Cut Short
by Salome Weil
Summary: After the end of the war, Hermione Granger went missing.  Now, years later, Harry is certain he's seeing her all over London once again.  What happened to her, why is she back, and what does Draco Malfoy have to do with it?  D/Hr
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the HP franchise, all rights to JK and co., and no profit is made off this fic.**

**AN: I don't seem to know what's good for me, do I? This blurb came to me as I was reading bad mystery novels and begged to be written. So now I have how many unfinished projects? Urgh. Let me know if you're intrigued by it and I'll try to write some more! It should be pretty obvious what's going on. Well, obvious enough for basics, but if I were to give it all away right now, what's the fun in that? **

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><p>From across the room came the sound of a glass shattering as it fell to the floor. Draco glanced up sharply, immediately alert and a moment later his eyes widened. He suddenly went pale, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He turned to his date and took her by the shoulders.<p>

"Jeannie, love, what do you say to leaving now?"

She looked up at him, momentarily startled, a smile from her conversation with another guest still upon her lips.

"Leave? Now? Daniel, we've only just arrived."

"No we haven't," he argued – something he wasn't used to doing with her, miracle of miracles. "We've been here at least forty minutes already and you know I wanted to leave early when you agreed to come with me at all." He pulled her close, one arm drawing snugly about her waist in what she thought was a rather obscenely possessive manner. She kind of liked it. What was more, he knew she kind of liked it and he smirked as he lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, "And you know exactly why I wanted to leave early."

"Dan!" she gasped, but she was laughing as she pushed him away. He let her put some distance between them, but only in order to slide his arm away from her waist and take her hand instead.

"Come on," he grinned down at her, tilting his head. "Let's get out of here."

"Alright…but only because I love you."

His heart skipped a beat and he glanced back at her as he led her towards the nearest exit, putting the crowds of people behind them. He could just see a commotion beginning at the far end of the ballroom, but then he had a hand on the door in front of them and was pushing out, Jeannie right behind him. He paused just outside, letting the doors bang shut, and pulled her to him again. She loved him? Well, there was only one appropriate response to that.

He kissed her thoroughly and when he lifted his head he saw she was looking up at him, her eyes shining, and a smile back in place upon her lips.

"Love?" he questioned and she bit her lip shyly and nodded. He wondered why he suddenly felt incredibly sad.

"Jeannie…"

If she bit her lip a little harder than necessary, it was hard to tell in the dim light of evening. She continued to smile up at him, her hazel eyes sparkling.

"You don't have to say anything, you big git. Just shut up and take me home. After all, isn't that why you wanted to leave?"

"Merlin," he muttered, so soft she wasn't sure she heard him properly and she laughed.

"Did you just say Merlin again, Dan? You're so weird!"

He grinned again and held her tighter. "I am and I love you," he said. Jeannie went very still, the smile slipping from her face.

"Daniel, you don't have to…"

"I want to. Oh, Jeannie. I want to. I love you." He bent over her, kissing her again, trailing his mouth along her jaw to her ear, layering more kisses along her skin, causing it to prickle with heat in the cool evening air. "I love you. I love you."

Her breath came quicker and she'd just placed her hands on his cheeks, eagerly directing him back to her mouth when the door they'd just exited from began to open. Draco immediately crushed Jeannie to him and hauled her around the corner of the building, hiding them in the deep shadows. Jeannie froze, but a second later lifted her head as if to question him. Draco slapped a hand over her mouth, startling her – no, frightening her. He looked down at her and saw her eyes were wide with fear and he felt his heart beat erratically at the sight. Hadn't he told himself he would never do this to her if he could help it, that he would never make her relive any of those awful moments of terror she must have known, back before he'd found her, back when all the trouble had begun? Yet here he was, not moments after confessing his love to her, after hearing her confess hers for him, and he was doing the very thing he'd tried to avoid at all costs.

He never should have brought her back to England.

He should have left her in Australia.

He should have tried to forget that Hermione Granger had ever existed.

Footsteps sounded on the cement, just feet – inches, really – away from where they were hidden and he held his hand over Jeannie's tightly. He could feel her pulse throbbing in her neck, pressed against the skin of his wrist and he was sure she could feel the terror racing through his veins too. He hoped it would make her more understanding. The footsteps shuffled for a moment and then a male voice spoke.

"I swear to god, she was here. It was her, Ginny. I promise you."

There was a light click of heels and then came his companion's voice. It was sad…resigned. It made Draco feel even worse.

"Harry…please don't take this the wrong way, but…you see her everywhere. Are you really sure it was her?"

"Ginny, I swear. I _swear_!" The anguish in the man's voice was palpable and Draco shuddered and tucked Jeannie closer to him, bending over her protectively, as if he could will them away and out of sight. He felt her trembling in his arms and wished he were dead. She was going to hate him for this. He would never be able to explain it. She was going to hate him.

The woman spoke again, soothingly, wearily. "Alright, Harry. Let's go back in. We can ask at reception about the guests. Maybe there'll be a name we recognize."

"Like an alias – yeah, right, of course. Why didn't I think of that? Instead of rushing after them, chasing her away…god, I'm such an idiot!"

"Harry, no. No, please. You aren't. She was your best friend, you've every right to react the way you did. If Ron were here..." There was a pause and then more pleading. "Come on, come back inside. Whoever it was is gone now. Come in and I'll check the registry with you. It's better than nothing."

"Better than…" There was a pathetic laugh from the Boy Who Lived. "You know, I think sometimes that at this point I'd almost rather have nothing than this endless waiting…" The soft sound of tears began and Draco decided that they'd heard enough. Keeping his arms wrapped about Jeannie, he hoped Ginny was too focused on Harry to hear them and then swiftly began leading her away.

They reached the parking lot without incident and Draco finally drew away from Jeannie, easing his hold on her. She shrugged his arms away entirely as he clicked the car doors unlocked and opened her own door before he could get it for her…but she didn't get in right away and he let her stand there, watching him as he watched her right back, waiting for the inevitable.

"Well," she finally began, rubbing absently at her cheek – his finger marks from where he'd kept her quiet still visible. He forced himself to look. It was only fair. She glanced away, tugging the cashmere shrug she wore a little closer about her otherwise bare shoulders.

"Well," she repeated. "That was interesting. What do you suppose it was?"

"Jeannie, I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have held you that way."

"What's the matter, thought you saw an ex-girlfriend back there?" she quipped, surprising him. "Is that the real reason you dragged me out of there so quickly?" When he didn't answer, she went on. "Or I guess I should say, that's what I thought at first, but then they started talking…god, that was sad, wasn't it?" She looked at him again and he swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. Was this it? Was it all going to be over from one stupid mistake, one accident?

She smiled at him. "Of course, then I figured you just didn't want to disturb them. It would've been awkward if they'd realized we were there and heard the whole thing, wouldn't it?" She frowned thoughtfully and her mind jumped from one idea to the next without lingering, working as swiftly as it ever had, which was certainly a benefit to him in this situation. "Who do you think they meant?" she asked. "We didn't even get to hear a name, just the names of those two. Harry and Ginny…they sounded so grieved…so very sad," she repeated, as if her mind was stuck now, unable to get past the emotion she'd heard in the strangers' voices.

Draco's mouth went dry as he stared at the woman in front of him, leaning nonchalantly on his luxury car, looking up at the stars and thinking about the mysterious, missing woman…thinking about herself without even realizing it.

It _was_ terribly sad.

Draco made a decision and leaned across the roof of the vehicle to tousle her curly brown locks, cut short since he'd known her. Well, since he'd known this version of her. Predictably, she rolled her head around and glared at him.

"Daniel!"

"Sorry, love," he said, grinning, though he looked contrite enough. "I really wasn't expecting them to crash our party for two. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?"

Her expression softened and she smiled again. "I'm alright, Dan."

He felt relief flood his limbs and their words from before came back to him. His eyes darkened before he could help himself.

"Want me to take you home?"

Her smile turned into a saucy grin and she tilted her head.

"I thought you'd never ask."


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the HP franchise, all rights to JK and co, no profit made here.**

**AN: So I'll be switching back and forth some, between past and present (the time of the prologue is the present, this particular episode/chapter takes place in the past - six years earlier, to be exact). Just a small explanation so y'all aren't jumping on me for being confusing. **

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><p>Hermione placed a hand against Ron's cheek and stroked her thumb there, gazing up at him tenderly.<p>

"Ron, it's not the end of the world. At best, I'll only be gone a day or two. At worst, I'll be gone a week."

"Hermione, I wish you'd let me come with you. You don't know how your parents will react. You'll – you might need me. You might need someone, I mean. I know you're the smartest witch around, but that doesn't make you invincible. Please, try and see it my way. I nearly lost you once already, Hermione."

She drew her hand away, her face pinched and resisted the urge to point out that no, he'd nearly lost her twice and the first time had been his fault entirely. Instead, she settled for sounding as annoyed and world weary as she felt when she said, "Ron, I know. I was there for it, remember?"

"Aw, Hermione, you know I don't mean it that way."

She sighed. "I know. And I appreciate that. But what I want, more than anything, is to try and forget those things. You know that, and yet you keep bringing it up…"

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said quickly, catching her hands in his, drawing them up and pulling her close. He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then her lips. "I'm sorry. I know you hate being treated that way." He took a deep breath. "You're leaving us the address, right?"

She nodded and laid her head against his shoulder. "Harry has a copy of it as well. If anything happens – which isn't likely, not now – you'll be able to find me. It will be ok."

Ron slid his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, suddenly unable to think of anything more to say. He knew Hermione had thought of everything…it was why she'd waited till now, months after Voldemort's destruction, to go and find her parents. She hadn't wanted any chance of additional backlash against her or them to get in the way of their reunion. He hugged her tightly and she responded by snuggling closer to him.

"I promise, Ron," she said. "I'll be back before you know it."

Somehow Ron managed to keep his own promise and left her alone to finish her preparations. Then she was finished and saying her final farewells, reiterating her promise to return soon all the while, so that when she finally Disapparated, Ron was able to head back into their shared flat without too much additional worry clouding his brow; and only the memory of her kiss goodbye lingered at the forefront of his mind.

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><p>When Hermione arrived on the hill overlooking the modest neighborhood in which she'd ensured her parents would be situated, she was tired from the many-legged journey, but not so tired that she didn't notice the strange atmosphere. For one, the neighborhood – its streets and houses – was eerily quiet. For two, there was a metallic, smoky taste to the air. The kind of odor dark magic generally left behind. She didn't truly begin to worry, however. After all, it was a relatively unfamiliar land and judging by the nearby clouds and the haze above the water in the cove, a storm was brewing. So the taste of magic might not even be that. She shook her head. She was just on edge – that was all – so she was letting her fancies get the better of her. Hadn't she worried all this last year? Hadn't she fretted until she'd found a grey hair, just last week? No, there was no need to worry anymore. All the houses were still standing, and there were certainly signs of people and animals around, even if she couldn't hear them. They were all likely hiding inside because of the incoming storm.<p>

Laughing at herself some, she started down the hill. Actually, there was another good reason why she hadn't brought anyone with her. Ron was the perfect example of what the average listener's reaction had been upon explaining her family's situation. Inevitably, they only succeeded in making her more nervous about the outcome of reunion. She didn't need or want reminders of how invasive, how scarring what she'd done could be. There was the perfectly good chance that even if the reversal went off without a hitch, her parents would be so hurt, so disappointed in her actions that they'd disown her.

That was not something she wanted anyone – not even the man she loved, or her very best friends – to witness. So, she'd politely declined their help and insisted on going it alone. It had been the right choice, she told herself now as she made her way into the neighborhood and up the street towards her parents' house. She felt her feet slow as she neared the house and took a deep, calming breath.

Hermione Jean Granger, don't be a ninny, she thought to herself. You've faced dark wizards the likes of which many practiced witches much older than yourself would tremble to see, let alone battle and successfully defeat. Besides which, you're the one who did this to them and you're the only one who can undo it. So what are you waiting for? Go up to that door, knock, and introduce yourself. You're practically a grown woman now – there's no reason to be afraid of your own parents.

And yet, she thought, there is every reason to be afraid of them. Depending on their reaction once they had their memories back, they could hurt her like no other. And yet…they were her parents, after all, and she loved them and had missed them desperately and whether they hated her for a short while or a long while, she had to bring them back.

Bravely, she opened the gate and started up the front walk towards the door. She thought she saw a curtain move in one of the front windows, but other than that there was no sign of life, although the flower beds certainly looked like they'd been watered recently. Standing before the door, she was just about to lift a hand to knock when she distinctly heard someone hiss at her. Turning her head, she saw a woman standing in the front yard of the house next to her parents', leaning towards her over the fence and waving a hand frantically.

"Excuse me?" she called and the woman glanced about furtively before straightening up some and doing her best to appear unruffled.

"Er, could you come here a moment?" she responded and Hermione started to look towards the door only to catch that hint of movement from the curtains again. She was positive someone was in there staring out at her. She felt very strange and for a moment the smell of magic seemed stronger than ever. She turned to look at the woman in the other yard again and there was a sudden flash of lightening in the sky over the hill, followed quickly by a crack of thunder. Hermione ducked immediately and ran over to the fence.

"Are you here to visit the Wilkins?" the woman asked quickly as another crack of thunder sounded and Hermione nodded.

"Do you know my…do you know them?" Hermione asked and the woman smiled tightly.

"I do – I've been watching their house for them while they're away, watering the garden, those sorts of things."

"They're away?" Hermione felt stupid, repeating the woman's words, but she found she wasn't sure how else to respond.

"Yes, on…holiday. Took off for New Zealand. A second honeymoon, I understand."

Hermione's face fell. "Oh. I see. Do you…well, this may be awkward, but it's terribly important…"

"Do I know where they're staying?" the woman filled in, her smile relaxed some. "I do, just in case of emergencies. Why don't I go inside and get it for you?"

Another flash of lightening and crack of thunder roared in the sky just overhead and the woman ducked the way Hermione had, her face suddenly frightened once again. She glanced at Hermione, her mouth drawn.

"Actually, you'd better come inside with me. The storm is about to break."

Hermione hesitated. There was something strange going on that had more to do with a storm and the smell of magic, but she was beginning to feel desperate, buoyed along by the sensation that if she didn't go with the woman now, she might never see her parents again. No, that wasn't right. If she didn't go with this woman, it was Ron and Harry she might never see again. She glanced back at the house and was certain she saw that same twitch of the curtains. She faced the woman again.

"If you're sure it's alright…then, just for a moment. Thank you."

Sheer relief spread over the woman's face and she hurried Hermione across her yard in the front door. She ushered Hermione in before her and spared one last look back at the Wilkins' house. The front curtains were open wide and the face Hermione had thought she'd seen was staring out the window directly at the woman, full of hate.

The woman shuddered and quickly closed the front door behind her, locking it fast.

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><p>Harry pushed back from his desk and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. He gave a sigh and stared up at the clock on the wall. Five minutes to, he thought.<p>

"Finished already, mate?" Ron inquired, walking into their shared office and dumping an assortment of scrolls and files on his desk. "Want to help me out with these reports?"

"Not a chance. Let's leave them to Monday, Ron. This desk duty is going to last a while, anyway. Why rush it?"

"Yeah, and whose fault is it we got desk duty?"

Harry grinned, only half ashamed, and Ron snorted. "You're impossible, Harry. We're not in Hogwarts anymore, you know."

"You sound more like Hermione every day," Harry teased Ron, who merely pressed his lips together in displeasure and sat down.

"Yeah, well, that's to be expected, isn't it?"

"Speaking of, don't you usually want to finish up early and get home on a Friday?"

"No point," Ron replied. "She's not there, is she?"

Harry nearly fell out of his chair. "What do you mean, she'd not there?"

Ron glanced up. "She's in Australia. You know, her parents all." He frowned. "Didn't you get her message?" At Harry's blank stare, Ron sighed and pushed back from his own desk. "Let me guess, you haven't checked your inbox all day. Look, she left for Australia this morning. She's gone to reverse the charm, bring her parents back."

"I thought she'd decided to wait to do that, until it was safe."

"It's been months, Harry. It's killing her, having them gone. She wants to make things right now. Besides, it is safe – as safe as it'll ever be, I guess." He paused. "You ought to have a note from her. She said she gave us both the address, just in case anything goes wrong. Not that it will, you know her."

Harry exploded.

"Not that it will – are you mad, Ron? Do you know how many Death Eaters we have yet to catch? How many escaped us after the battle was over? For god's sake, half of them are in Australia! Someone reported a sighting of the Carrows in Sydney just yesterday, Lestrange was finally captured in Queensland, and Yaxley's been seen somewhere in New Zealand. Merlin, Ron! And you just let her go there _alone_? _Are you mad_?"

Ron shifted nervously in his seat. "Yeah, Harry, I know all that. But she wouldn't let me go with her. It's something she wanted to do on her own, wouldn't hear of me going with her, or anyone else. And it's not like anyone managed to find them before. Look, she's set to call later. Said not to worry if I didn't hear from her right away. She wants to give it enough time to…well. She'll call, or Floo, or something. It's alright, Harry. I'm not worried, honest."

"Not worried? _Not worried_? Ron, I know I've done loads of stupid things since we finished our training –"

"Since?" Ron inserted and Harry glared at him.

"But the bottom line is that Hermione is the closest thing to a real family that I have and you should know by now, if Hermione says she doesn't want you along, then that just means you'll have to follow her."

"Harry…come on, mate. We already argue enough as it is. I just want to keep the peace between us."

"Yeah? And if there isn't an us because you let her go off alone? What are you going to do then?"

Ron paled and looked down at his scrolls and files again. "Come on, Harry," he repeated softly. "That's not fair."

"Life's not fair, Ron. Don't I know that better than anyone? God, you're an idiot sometimes." He reached for his robes and shrugged into them quickly, rifled through his inbox till he found Hermione's note which he tucked inside his robes, then headed for the door, where he paused and looked back at his other best friend and partner.

"Well? Are you coming?" he asked.

Ron looked up at him, squeezed his eyes shut in frustration and rubbed a hand over his face, then sighed and nodded. He stood up and adjusted his robes.

"Yeah, I'm coming."

Harry would've smiled triumphantly, but the truth was that he felt too sick to his stomach over the situation to do much more than clap a hand on his friend's shoulder. He was gratified to see that Ron looked about as heartsick as he felt. Reaching for their brooms, he handed one off to Ron before turning off the lights in their office with a wave of one hand and then the two Aurors and friends were making their way down the still halls of the Ministry, intent on securing the safety of one of the most important witches in their lives.

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><p><strong>AN: Don't be shy, now...and remember that I prefer homemade cookies. ;) <strong>


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the HP franchise, all rights to JK and co, no profit made here.**

**AN: Oo, part three! Hope you enjoy this one. More jumping around to come. Patience is a virtue! ;)**

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><p>Hermione didn't sit down as she waited for the woman to return. She felt like she waited longer than was necessary. The woman was only getting an address, wasn't she? It should have only taken a moment, but she could hear sounds coming from the kitchen, small clinks and clanks, and she was suspicious. Hermione walked towards the doorway through which the woman had disappeared and called out.<p>

"Is everything alright?"

The woman replied immediately. "What? Oh, yes, quite. Everything is fine, I just – I'll be right there…" She appeared in the doorway suddenly, a tray in her hands, laden with things for tea, and Hermione jumped back.

"What's all this?" she asked and the woman flushed.

"Well, as it's storming and you can't possibly leave right away, I thought, perhaps, tea might be in order? I apologize, was that too forward of me? Oh, dear, I'm always so muddled about things sometimes…"

"No, it's fine, I suppose," Hermione replied and the woman smiled brightly.

"Is it? Oh, good. Well, please have a seat, in that case. One sugar or two?"

"None for me, thanks," Hermione said out of habit, thinking of her parents. Sugar in her tea? Not on their watch! She accepted the cup and saucer and glanced about as she took a cautious sniff of the beverage.

Well, it didn't smell like anything other than tea, but one never knew.

The woman took a great sip of her own cup of tea and looked at Hermione pointedly. "You know the Wilkins very well, don't you?" she asked and Hermione rested her cup and saucer carefully on her lap.

"Um," she said. The woman shook her head and Hermione looked apologetic. "You might say that."

"Then you'd better listen to what I have to say," the woman said. "I don't know who you are, but whoever is in that house right now, it's not Monica and Wendell. They left for New Zealand a week ago Sunday and then, two nights ago, they came back. But it isn't them. In the first place, their vacation was meant to last two weeks and in the second place…well. Can't you feel it?"

"Feel what?" Hermione echoed, momentarily stunned by the woman's words.

"Something isn't right," the woman practically whispered as lightening lit up the sky again.

A crack of thunder sounded, very close, and Hermione could feel it then, the electricity in the air, the smell of magic in her nostrils. She stood up suddenly, her cup and saucer spilling to the floor, and she glared at the woman.

"Wait a minute. You're telling me that my – that the Wilkins are at home right now? That they came back from their holiday?"

The woman looked frightened. "No, I'm telling you, whoever came back to their house, it isn't them! Please, you must listen to me! I'm only trying to help you, to warn you!"

Hermione moved towards the door and the woman stood as well, heedless of all the spilt tea.

"Please, where are you going? You aren't thinking of going over there, are you? You can't!"

Hermione paused, one hand on the doorknob, and she turned her head slightly. When she spoke, her voice was cold.

"Don't try to stop me."

Then she unlocked the door and, flinging it open, headed out into the storm.

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><p>Harry and Ron stood before the charred fence, looking at the place where the Wilkins' house should have been. Ron took one heavy step forward and Harry reached out and snagged his sleeve. Ron shook his hand away.<p>

"Ron, we need to call for back-up."

Ron let out a harsh laugh. "Back-up? When we came all this way on our own?" He turned to stare at his friend in disbelief and Harry flinched at the look on his face. "_Now_ you're worried about procedure, seriously, mate?"

"Right. I'm sorry, you're right. I'll just…send out a Patronus, ok?"

Ron turned away, shrugging and surveyed the scene before them again. Only the foundations remained of what must have been a cozy little house, perfect for a couple without children. Ron felt his heart beating hard in his chest, as if by doing its job well enough it wouldn't break.

"It's gone," he murmured, hardly realizing he was speaking until he felt Harry at his side. Till he heard him speak.

"It is," Harry muttered. "But…there has to be a trace of something somewhere. She's only been here a short while, really. There must be a clue somewhere, right? Someone must have seen something, or heard something."

"And if they didn't?" Ron asked, his voice as dead as his insides felt just then.

Harry ignored that and moved forward, onto the property. "No Muggle emergency responders have been by," he said, surveying the scene more closely. "That's likely because of those spells we found, warning people away. Concealing charms were used, too, but it's not the work of amateurs. It'll take a full investigation to reveal who might've been behind the spell-work, but I reckon we'll find out."

"Will we? That's good, mate," Ron said stiffly. Harry looked back at him, his eyes fierce.

"Listen to me, Ron. Don't start blaming yourself for anything yet, alright? That won't do either us or her any good. We both have to keep clear heads."

"Clear heads? With this right in front of you? Are you mad? How can anyone think clearly staring at this –?"

"Because her life may depend on it," Harry replied in a low voice. He lifted his chin. "You think I'm not going crazy inside right now? You think you're the only one who cares about her?"

Ron looked away suddenly, ashamed of himself and a moment later he felt Harry walk up to him and place a hand on his shoulder.

"It's going to be ok, Ron. No matter what. We'll find her." Harry paused, his voice choked. "We _have_ to find her."

Ron lifted his head, about to respond when they both heard the same thing – a small scream of dismay. They turned quickly, wands at the ready, only to find a woman standing in the yard across the fence from them, her hands covering her mouth as she stared at the now visible destruction.

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><p>Hermione lifted her head – rather, she tried to lift her head, but found it felt too heavy. It throbbed painfully and when she managed to lift a hand to it, she felt it was sticky with blood. Hell, what had happened? She tried to sit up and again, found she had no energy. The effort made her cough, sending her head into more painful throbs and she turned it slightly, trying to find a comfortable position on the cold stone floor.<p>

"Are you awake? Please, don't try to move," came a voice to her left. A voice she recognized.

"Dad?" she murmured and found she was coughing again.

"No, sweetheart, I'm afraid I'm not your father. Oh, god, how old are you? You poor thing, you must be terrified."

Hermione struggled to sit up again and when her father – no, Wendell Wilkins – saw she wasn't giving up, he finally helped her up and leaned her gently against a nearby wall.

"You probably shouldn't be asleep right now anyhow, you likely have a concussion, judging by the amount of blood…oh, shh, here they come again. Pretend you're still asleep, alright? I'll talk to them, don't worry about a thing. I'll take care of you."

"What's that? Talking to yourself, Muggle? Or is your girl awake now?"

"No, she isn't, and listen, you…you bastards, I don't know what you mean, why you keep calling her my girl, but she's just a child. Let her go, for god's sake. You already have me and my wife, why are you doing this?"

"More questions! Listen to that, Yaxley! You sure you want to keep him around?"

"Actually, now that we have the girl I suppose we don't really need them any longer, unless…"

"No! Listen to me, please! Let her go! My wife and I, we won't tell a soul about this, just leave them both alone!"

A tall man with a craggy face stepped forward and surveyed the pitiful scene. He pushed the other man away.

"Go on, Carrow. See to your sister, make sure she doesn't burn the meal again."

"But what about them? What do you mean to do with them?"

"I imagine we'll get rid of them eventually, but for now, it might not be a bad idea to have some form of…leverage."

Wendell's face paled. "What are you saying? Please, let the girl go! Please! My wife and I, you have us already, you don't need anyone else, don't need to use anyone for leverage!"

The tall man named Yaxley knelt down to meet his prisoner's eyes. "Oh, but I do. And I'm afraid you've misunderstood. It isn't her we'll be using for leverage, you see. It's you. Because while you may not know who she is, that girl there, the one pretending to be asleep? She knows exactly who you are."

Then Yaxley stood up and smiled thinly. "Isn't that right, Miss Granger? Now, I'll be on my way. If you're lucky you might see your wife later. Goodbye."

Wendell reached forward, through the bars, as though he could stop the Death Eater.

"Wait! Come back! Please, don't do this! Don't –"

The sound of a heavy door clanging shut and being bolted sounded down the short passage and Wendell turned and slumped back against the bars. He covered his face with his hands. A moment later, he felt a movement nearby and looked up to see the girl leaning towards him, hands pressed into the stone beneath her, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I had no idea this would happen. Please, I'm so sorry…!"

Wendell ran a hand down his face again and glanced away. When he looked back at her, he was able to smile grimly.

"No need to apologize, bug," he murmured. "We're in this together now."

Hermione pulled back suddenly, her face ashen. "What…what did you call me?"

He met her eyes bravely and there was a message in them, one she nearly had trouble making out because she was so certain it couldn't be true.

"Oh, just a pet name. Do you mind?"

"I don't know whether I should be happy, or…it seems wrong, somehow. To be glad."

Wendell – no, her father – crawled over to her and very gently pressed her head down to his shoulder. "There's very little to be glad about at the moment," he murmured. "Best take it where you can find it."

"Dad," she began and he pressed a hand to her mouth.

"No, bug," he whispered. "They don't know yet. I think it's better if we keep it that way, don't you?"

Hermione was quiet for a long moment, attempting to draw comfort just from being there with her father, but found that she only felt worse by the minute. This should never have happened. She'd done everything she could to keep them safe and still…she drew a shuddering breath, thinking of the amount of torture it would have taken to reverse her charms.

"I'm sorry," she couldn't help saying again.

"Don't start apologizing. Listen, Monica is…well, she's somewhere else with them. There's not much we can do about it from here, just pray they send her back soon. We're in this together."

A sudden scream, so loud and long that it penetrated the stone walls and reverberated down through their cell, sounded from outside the prison.

Her mother. It had to be her mother.

Hermione felt her father stiffen and the arm he had wrapped around her shoulders held her closer. She hung her head and covered her eyes. Another scream ripped through the night, tearing an anguished cry from her father and Hermione turned and clung to him…and when the screams continued, she found herself lifting her head and crying out as well. They were in it together, but it seemed certain that whatever it was, they wouldn't be together for long. Death would surely claim them all.


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own no part of HP, make no money, blah blah blah.**

**AN: Yes, two updates at once. Whee! Hope you think they're worth it. :) And wasn't I promised brownies?**

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><p>She was still screaming when she woke up, calling names she didn't know, yelling for people she wasn't sure existed. A voice cut through the sound like a knife, driving straight to her heart, shaking her from her nightmares and she realized he was holding her as he always did when she awoke this way – threatened, face tear-stained, eyes red from weeping, mouth filled with desperate pleas.<p>

"Jean!" he was saying as he rocked her back and forth in his arms. "Jean, I'm here. You're awake, you're safe. Jean, please. Wake up, love."

She gasped and sobbed against his shoulder and felt his hands at her back, rubbing softly as she curled against him further…as if she could crawl inside him, as if she would finally be at peace that way.

"Shh, love," he murmured, bending his head to kiss her hair. He tenderly brushed the short locks away from her face and kissed her cheek. "There, see? You're safe."

"Oh, Dan," she sighed. "I'm sorry."

"No, never apologize, Jeannie. Please. You cry as long as you need to. I'm not going anywhere."

"Daniel…"

"Jeannie, listen to me," he said, pulling away some and taking her face between his hands. He gazed down at her tenderly and placed soft kisses against her cheeks, effectively wiping away her tears. "I'm here because I want to be here, because I love you. I know I've made a lot of promises to you, but that is the one I know I can keep. I'm not going anywhere. I swear."

Jean looked up at him, hazel eyes wide, brimming with more unshed tears. "I don't deserve you," she murmured and he frowned and pulled her close again, wrapping his arms about her tightly. He felt her begin to cry again, soft sobs shaking her body in his arms.

"Wrong," he whispered. "It's the other way round, you little idiot." And indeed, Draco Malfoy had no idea how, or if he ever would, deserve Hermione Jean Granger. All he knew now was that she needed him, needed someone, and that he wasn't about to leave her. Not yet...not ever. Except he knew, logically, that one day she would learn the truth and then he might be forced to leave her. And that day, he knew equally well, was swiftly approaching.

* * *

><p>Ginny rested her head in her hands. Ron knew she was close to tears, or exhaustion, but he didn't know what to do. He never knew what to do, not anymore…if he'd ever had a clue in the first place. That was debatable, too. So, he stayed quiet and waited for her thoughts to form, for her to voice them as the tea in both their mugs went cold.<p>

"He saw her again and…I just don't know what to do," she whispered, echoing his thoughts. He felt his carefully mended heart, the one that he suspected would soon be as cold as his tea, crack a little. Here was his baby sister, suffering the same as he was, the same as Harry, and the bloke still couldn't let it go. And he said he loved her. Bollocks. Ginny went on and he did his best to pay attention.

"Ron, what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to even say anymore? I miss her too, you know. Every day I miss her, and I know she was like his sister, his family, but damn it, I'm his family too, now. Aren't I? We're engaged, I'm trying to plan a wedding, but the closer it gets I feel like the further he pulls away. Like it won't be a wedding at all if she's not there and I know what he means, what he's feeling, but Ron…can't you talk to him? Please? You've picked up the pieces, you're surviving. Why can't he let it go?"

Ron gave a bitter laugh. "Gin, I'm not surviving anything. And the reason he can't let it go…he'd tell you it's because he loved her more."

"Ron, that's not true."

"Yeah, I know. I mean, I know he'd never say that. But in the end it's the truth. I just didn't love her enough to make it my whole life."

"That's rubbish!" Ginny exclaimed. "You loved her just as much as he did – you still do! That's why you've let it go, because you want to remember her properly, not resurrect her ghost the way he is. Bloody hell! I can't take this anymore, Ron. Every time it happens he's raking it up for me, too. Doesn't he know that? Doesn't he care?"

Ron shifted in his seat uncomfortably and decided to try for something resembling the truth. "Gin…he knows. He cares. Harry's mad about you. You know he is. And he's going to marry you. But he just…he's handling it differently than we have. And you know perfectly well why he's being this way. His parents, then Sirius, Dumbledore, and Lupin and Tonks…even Snape, for Merlin's sake. He never thought he'd lose her, too. And us Weasleys, well. We're his adopted family, yeah, but we're the adopted family he's marrying into. You have to put yourself in his shoes, Ginny."

"I do! I understand all that!"

"No, what I mean is, you have to put yourself in his shoes every time this happens – and it will keep happening. Gin, remember how we felt, how we still feel, about Fred?"

Ginny nodded, resting her head in her hands again, the tears closer than ever. Ron pushed forward. He had to make her see. Harry wasn't the bad guy – he wasn't the smartest or most thoughtful in this case, but that didn't make him the bad guy.

"Well, I reckon that's what Harry feels every day, just multiplied by ten. They never found her body. Didn't even find her wand. He's right; she could still be out there somewhere. I couldn't let it drive me crazy, that's not who I am, how I handle things. I had to let her go because it was my fault in the first place. If I held onto her, the guilt alone…even if she came back, if that dream were real, I could never be with her again. I'm not the man she needed. I let her go, let her meet that fate on her own. It's not fair that I hold onto her now. Harry, on the other hand…"

"Ron, it wasn't your fault. How many times do we have to tell you that?"

"You can say it as long as you like, Gin, but I'll never believe it," he replied sadly and looking at him, Ginny knew for certain he meant it. She closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck wearily.

"Harry will never let it go," she said and Ron sighed.

"He won't. So what you have to decide, Gin, is if you can live with that or not. How much do you love him? You know he loves you, wants to marry you. Can you accept him the way he is? Because you'll never change him. You'll never get rid of his ghosts. You can only help him live with them."

"Oh, Ron," Ginny murmured and reached across the table, taking her brother's hands in hers. "And what about you?"

"Me?" he asked, surprised. She nodded.

"Yes, you. Who's going to help you live with yours?"

"I don't have ghosts, Gin," Ron replied, his eyes belying his words, haunted as they were. "Just memories. And they're pretty poor ones, at that. Now, how about I warm up your tea?"

Ginny watched him stand up and begin to bustle at his stovetop, heating water with the electric range Hermione had insisted on using in the flat she and Ron had once shared, the flat her brother had refused to give up, to move out of, and it broke her heart all over again. Hermione, she thought. Come back. Please, come back, from wherever you are. None of us will ever know how to live without you otherwise.

The kettle began to whistle shrilly.

* * *

><p>The Minister looked over the tops of her glasses at the Auror who'd brought the request to her Committee of Discretionary Funds and frowned for all she was worth.<p>

"Auror Potter," she began, "I'm quite aware of the situation regarding the case file on Miss Granger. But I'm afraid six years is the absolute maximum amount of time we could possibly keep that file open and as such, we are quite unable to cede your request for funding to reopen an investigation!"

Harry spoke entirely out of turn, causing Kingsley to close his eyes briefly and wish desperately that Weasley had remained partnered to the hotheaded war hero of a wizard. The other man had been the only one able to make Potter ever see reason.

"Yeah? If six years is the maximum, then why do we still have an open file on bloody Caradoc Dearborn? Is it because he was married to your half-sister?"

The Minister sucked air in through her teeth and looked very much like she wanted to snap something in return, but knew it would look bad if she stooped to his level. She settled for exhaling slowly as she set the proposal forms back down on her desk and tidied them.

"Well done, Mister Potter," she said finally. "You've done your research. I suppose next you'll point out how long the files on the missing Death Eaters have been open. Then you might draw a parallel between the Miss Granger's importance in the last war and your own efforts. And the final nail in the coffin of your career – and please, don't delude yourself in thinking that your war hero status will save your position from the suicide of pushing this proposal through, we don't nearly have enough money for it to survive your arrogance – as I was saying, the final nail will be using your pull to draw on every last favor the people of this Ministry owe you."

Kingsley stepped forward. "Minister…"

She waved a hand irritably and continued to address Harry. "But I suppose none of that will stop you, will it?"

"Not really, no," Harry said matter-of-factly. Still, he was planning on getting married…and while he had enough money to last him and Ginny for quite some time, and while he knew that nearly anybody else would be happy to offer him a job if the Ministry decided he was a liability, being an Auror was what he'd wanted for a long time. It was what he'd dreamed of, for as long as he'd dreamed that he might actually survive the war with Voldemort. That and marrying Ginny – and living in relative peace with her, with a brood of red-haired children, all of whom mingled with the children of his best friends: curly haired bookworms who enjoyed a good game of Quidditch just the same.

It was a dream he wasn't sure he'd ever get to see and it made him horribly sad. Its death seemed to represent every ill he'd ever endured, every horrific thing that had ever been thrust upon him…for what was the point of all that suffering, of that tremendous war, if he couldn't have just one simple thing in return?

Suddenly, out of the darkness of the situation, a thought came to him. A glimmer of an idea that might save his job, impending marriage and the life of his best friend. He looked up at the Minister seriously.

"If I front half of the money to fund a renewed investigation, will you accept the proposal?"

"Mister Potter, half? Do you know how much money that is?"

"Yes, and I happen to be rich."

The Minister's eyes widened some and she glanced at the papers again. "That still doesn't fix the fact that this file is past due for closing."

"Except it isn't," Harry replied. "I know the year makes it six, but if you check the exact date it was opened, you'll find that it was September when she disappeared. It's just the end of May right now."

"Three months, give or take a week. I see. And you think you can not only front half the funds for that long, but that you'll be successful?"

"Minister," Harry began, "this job, this work, means a lot to me. But she was family. We see people just like myself in our offices every day, begging for news, for information. Some have been waiting over ten years for answers. Haven't they, Minister?" The woman frowned again, but didn't deny it and he plowed ahead. "So I figure, if we aren't even willing to take care of our own, what can they expect from us?"

The Minister sighed and removed her glasses. She glanced down at the forms again and then up at Harry. Then, without a word, she waved her wand over them and stamped them. Harry fought the smile that threatened to spread across his cheeks and Kingsley resisted the urge to do a victory dance. Potter, that crazy man. He always came through in the end, knew just what to say when it counted. He was hotheaded, alright, but he was a good Auror and a great man. The Minister looked at them both sternly.

"Three months, Mister Potter. We will supply half the funds. Please don't waste them."

Whether she meant the funds or the time, Harry neither knew nor cared.

* * *

><p>When Ginny and Harry met one another for dinner that evening, they both began speaking at once.<p>

"Ginny!"

"Harry!"

"Ginny, you'lll never guess…"

"Harry, I've come to a decision…"

They stopped and looked at one another. Harry didn't offer to let her go first and Ginny knew what that look in his eyes meant. It meant business. She took a deep breath.

"Tell me all about it, please."

"Ginny, I'm going to help fund a new investigation. They're giving me until September before they mark her case inactive."

"Oh, Harry," Ginny breathed. Harry had been expecting the worst, but instead found himself being embraced. He wrapped his arms around her in return, but couldn't hide the surprise in his voice. He knew, after all, that he'd worn her out talking about it all over again after the benefit two nights ago.

"Ginny?" he asked and she snuggled closer to him.

"Harry, it's ok," she said. When he didn't respond, she lifted her head to look at him. "I mean, it's really ok. Yes, it's going to be hard, reopening those wounds, reliving her loss, but…I love you. What's important to you is important to me, too. I want to help you live with this, Harry, and if that means supporting a new investigation, then alright."

Harry stared at her, his brow furrowed. "Ginny, you don't have to…I know this is hard for you. I'm sorry I can't just let it go. I know that's what you want."

"No, Harry," she said. "What I want is you and…I know that includes this, it includes her. I've always known that. I can't promise I'll always say the right thing, or always be as understanding as you need, or patient, but I'll try."

"Ginny…" Harry crushed his mouth to hers suddenly, not caring that tears were running down both their faces. When he pulled away, Ginny was smiling up at him beautifully and he almost thought that he just might survive this. They just might survive it together.

"Harry, let's find Hermione," she murmured and he smiled down at her and kissed her again.

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><p><strong>AN: Are we all following? Yes? Yeeessss...<strong>


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the HP franchise, all rights to JK and co, no profit made here.**

**AN: Oo, more already! To my accountless reviewers, thank you! I'm glad you're intrigued and I hope you continue to enjoy this one. To everyone, there will be more jumping about soon, this time to more recently, when Draco found her, but for right now we are still in the present. **

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><p>Ron stood next to Harry, as Harry had known he would, and looked down at the headstone. In a manner so reminiscent of Hermione that Harry wondered if Ron didn't hold her in higher regard now than he ever had when she was with them, Ron pulled out his wand and carefully transfigured a wreath at the stone's base. Then he pocketed his wand and glanced at Harry.<p>

"So, you want me on the team."

"I need you on the team," Harry replied softly. He knelt and brushed some invisible dirt from the headstone and his hand lingered over the letters of the last name. Granger. Henry and Jean, loving parents to Hermione. Ron cleared his throat.

"Harry, mate…"

"It's ok, Ron. I know I've been an idiot to you. I'm sorry. Please come back?"

"That's Kingsley's decision," Ron said stolidly, gazing off into the distance. Harry looked up at him.

"No, it's not. It's yours. I already asked Kingsley."

"Harry!"

"Ron, please. You were there with me, when we found the house, when we found them a week later…you know the case inside and out as well as I do. We'll have another pair with us, the necessary fresh eyes, but I need you."

Ron shook his head and crossed his arms.

"Harry, I can't."

"Ron…"

Ron finally looked down at his best friend, the only one in the world he'd thought understood him, understood what he'd gone through when they'd lost her.

"Harry, I want to get married."

"What?" Harry was on his feet in an instant and staring down Ron like he had a Death Eater growing out of his head. "Married? You're not even seeing someone! Are you?"

"No, that's not what I…listen, Harry, I want to move on. I'm never going to stop loving Hermione, or hoping she's still out there, but I don't…I never see her, not anymore. You know, I even have trouble calling her to mind, every freckle, every misplaced, frizzy curl…I can't do it anymore."

"But, Ron…"

"I know, Harry. And I'm sorry. I want to be there for you, the way Ginny's decided she can, but I just can't do it anymore. It was my fault she went off alone that day, it's my fault she's out there without us right now…if she even is out there. Don't you think, if she was alive, if she knew herself, that she would've moved heaven and earth to come back? Don't you believe that?"

Harry just stared at him, shocked, and Ron went on. "I can't do it anymore, Harry, not because I don't love her, or want to see her alive and well, but because if this…if it all turns out bad in the end, I can't live with it. Because then it will be real and the guilt and the grief…it's killing me, Harry."

Harry was quiet for a long moment and then looked up at Ron again and gestured to the headstone, the beautiful marble monument Ron had paid for.

"Ron, I know how you feel. Believe me. You're right, if this ends bad…but I don't believe it will. I've never believed she's dead and I won't until…listen, Ron, please. Come back, partner with me. One last case, one last investigation and if it doesn't work out, then…I'll let you off from being anything other than best man at the wedding. I won't drag you into things ever again, if that's how you really feel. I promise."

He refrained from saying, you need this. You need this as much as I do, don't deny it. He knew saying that to Ron would never do any good, that the other wizard was so angry at himself still, after all this time, that only having Hermione back – safe and sound, or cold and dead – would allow him the peace he was so desperately seeking.

Ron sighed and looked away again, his eyes trained on the horizon for what seemed like a long time. Finally, he met Harry's eyes again. His shoulders relaxed and the expression on his face was grim, but resigned.

"Alright, mate," he said. "Where do we start?"

* * *

><p>"Malfoy!"<p>

Draco turned from his conversation with the Mediwitch on duty and smiled broadly at his old friend.

"Nott!"

The Healer approached him swiftly, smiling in return. "Well, what are you waiting for? Come on back to my office. Unless…you really do need an exam?"

"The office is fine," Draco confirmed. "We can discuss things there."

"Ah, good. That's what I thought." Theo cast a glance at him from the corner of his eye as they walked. "So, how was your holiday?"

"It wasn't a holiday and you know it," Draco retorted cheerfully. "Is this it?" he asked as Theo paused before a particular door.

"This is it. Come in, please, take a seat."

Draco settled into a chair and looked around the room appreciatively. "Healer in four years – impressive, Theo."

"Thanks, Draco. And what are you, again? VP in charge of foreign development? That was the reason for your failure of a holiday, wasn't it?"

"It was a failure because it wasn't a holiday, it was a three month long business exchange. Who have you been talking to, Astoria?"

"Daphne. We've grown rather fond of one another."

"Good, I'm very happy for you, over the moon. But the fact of the matter is that Astoria wanted something I couldn't give her."

"What's that? Your time, or your attention?"

"Both. Now, are you quite finished prying into my love life?"

"Your lack of love life, you mean. Since you've managed to dump every single witch who's expressed long term interest in you."

"Astoria was treating my business trip like it was a honeymoon. What was I supposed to do? Play along?"

Theo eyed his increasingly irritated friend and finally put his hands up. "Ok, ok. Let's forget your being a prat for now. Tell me why you wanted a consultation."

"I have a situation."

"Go on," Theo said, taking out a quill for notes. Draco leaned forward and put out a hand.

"No," he said. "No notes. This is…entirely confidential."

"What, like under the table? Draco…while I can't say it's surprising, it's been a long time since you've come to me with a request like that."

"Yeah, well. This is more important than little school-day squabbles."

"Is it more important than Death Eater squabbles?"

Draco frowned and Theo sighed and put his quill away. "Ok. I don't like it, but alright. Explain it. I'll tell you what I can do."

Draco looked relieved and sat back in his seat again. "I'll tell you what I can, first. Fair?"

"Fair." Theo crossed his arms. "I'm waiting."

Draco swallowed nervously and finally started in. "I've met someone. She…has amnesia, as far as I can tell. I'm just not sure why. She suffers from what appears to be PTSD at times, and at others…she seems perfectly normal. Just your average Muggle-" Draco caught himself and went on. "But I can't tell if all this is normal, what the causes are, or if there's something more going on. And before she can be helped…"

"You need to know exactly what's going on before you can decide where to take her for treatment, is that right?" Theo watched Draco closely. "That seems straightforward enough. You want me to take a look at her, is that right? Think it will be a more thorough exam?"

"That's not it, exactly," Draco replied. "I've had her in to a Muggle hospital already, you see. But while they recommended therapy, aside from that all they could do was prescribe time and pills and she…I'm not sure if…"

"You think she doesn't have much time? You think her condition might be caused by a more serious condition?"

"I don't know," Draco repeated, for lack of a better explanation. He couldn't very well let the cat out of the bag in the middle of the hospital, after all, and besides, what was he supposed to say? No, Theo, it's just that if I have her here for too much longer without finding a solution then Potter is going to sniff us both out and then I won't stand a prayer of being with her any longer. He looked at his old friend and shrugged helplessly instead. "I just don't know. But I thought of you, Theo. Please, can you come, take a look? I've already told her that I have a friend who might be willing to do a house call…"

"A house call?" Theo raised his brows. "Merlin, Draco. You're really invested in this one, aren't you? A Muggle?" He shook his head. "Will wonders never cease."

Draco smiled sickly in return and managed to keep his sinking feelings at bay long enough to sort out a day and time with Theo before exchanging a few more pleasantries, a promise for lunch soon, and leaving as quickly as his feet could carry him.

* * *

><p>Ginny dropped the package of dry pasta she'd been holding and stared down the aisle in shock. The woman who'd just passed her paused and looked down at the box of macaroni, lying on the floor of the supermarket. She bent at the knees and swiftly scooped the box up, then held it out to Ginny, a smile on her face.<p>

"There you are," she said, shaking the box a little. "Miss? Your pasta?" she prompted when Ginny failed to take the box right away.

Ginny felt color rise to her cheeks and she glanced from the box to the woman's face and back again, then blinked, turned, and walked away stiffly. The woman watched her go, a frown upon her face, and then shrugged and set the box back on its shelf. What a funny place London could be, Jean thought to herself. Then she turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Ginny leaned around the shelf behind which she'd hidden and watched the woman walk away. It was Hermione…and it wasn't, she thought. Her hair was so short, for one, but those eyes, that face. They'd been the same. And yet, when she'd spoken, there hadn't been a single hint of recognition.

I'm turning into Harry, Ginny thought. I'm going mad.

She wondered if it was possible it was the same woman Harry had seen at their event the other night. Harry had only ended up getting invited because his cousin had something to do with the company that had been involved. It wasn't entirely unlikely for there to be a Muggle look alike of Hermione running about London. After all, she was Muggleborn, herself. She might have cousins she never knew about, distant cousins, genes that had skipped generations…there might be any number of reasons for that woman to _not_ be Hermione. And yet…

Ginny started down the same aisle after her, pausing only long enough to snag the discarded box of pasta and toss it in her basket. That was it. She was going to introduce herself to that woman, put an end to this needless wondering. It was just a coincidence, that was all. It had nothing whatever to do with Harry's investigation. In fact, he didn't even need to know about this encounter and that was that. Ginny lifted a hand as she saw the woman turning a corner.

"Excuse me – excuse me, I didn't thank you!"

* * *

><p>Later in the day, what appeared to be a perfectly average (albeit incredibly good looking) Muggle couple was keeping one another company in a ridiculously posh suite of rooms the man claimed was a simple flat. The woman was leaning over the back of a loveseat, regarding the streets below, her lips pursed thoughtfully.<p>

"It's raining again," she said and the man rustled his paper and glanced up at her, a bemused smile on his face.

"Yes, it does that here rather often," he teased and the woman twisted her head around to look at him.

"Dan…" she wheedled. "Can't we go out anyway?"

"For a walk in the rain?" he asked absentmindedly and she smiled brightly.

"Yes," she said. He glanced at her again and was suddenly arrested by the teasing look on her face. The arched brow, the half-curve of the lips…how often had he seen her look just that way, not only to him, but to so many others?

"Alright, Jeannie," he relented. "Best go put on your Wellies."

She stuck one leg up in the air. "Already have them on," she said, then leaned forward and crossed her legs enticingly, shaking one foot to bring attention to them. His eyes widened slightly.

"Were you going to go out without me if I said no?"

"Of course," she replied. "I don't need your permission, do I?" She stood and walked over to him, bending and kissing the top of his head. "But it's more fun if you come along."

He dropped his paper and grabbed hold of her jumper, hauling her further down to kiss her properly.

"Alright, you may have a point there. Bring me my Wellies and I'll let you off easy this time."

"Get them yourself," she replied before kissing him again, straightening, and waltzing from the room. Draco turned to watch her go and shook his head. She would never be sweet, not really. Affectionate, teasing, kind…but never simple, never sweet. Not that he minded. He preferred her this way, actually. It was more her true self, not to mention it was a vast improvement on her condition when he'd first found her.

She came back into the room and leaned over the back of his chair. He looked up at her and smiled.

"Brought them anyway?"

She smiled in return and nodded, then reached around and dumped the rain boots on his lap. He jumped and laughed.

"You little…oh, you're in for it, now, Jeannie. You think I'll let that one slide?"

She shrieked with glee as he stood up and chased her from the room, shedding bits of dried mud along the way, courtesy the boots in his hands. He finally cornered her in their bedroom and she made a frantic leap for the bed, only to end up with him catching her about the waist and landing atop her on the down comforter. She rolled over beneath him, still laughing and he kissed her fiercely.

"You bugger," he murmured and kissed her neck, causing her laughter to die down suddenly.

"Dan," she murmured. "_Dan_."

"What?" he asked, lifting his head. His eyes widened slightly at the look on her face and he immediately propped himself up on his forearms, lifting himself off of her completely. "Jean, I'm sorry. I didn't…"

"No, it's alright," she said, taking a deep breath. "It was just…I dunno, that word."

He frowned. "Which one? Bugger? Are you serious?"

She let out a sad laugh. "I know, I'm sorry. That's crazy, isn't it? It sounds mental."

"No, no. Come on, love. It doesn't. I just…wasn't expecting that."

"Maybe I'm just imagining things," she muttered. "After all, that woman at the market…"

Draco was on the alert, but he tried to keep his voice casual. "What woman? Did something happen?"

"Oh, I don't know. No, not really. It's just that I met this woman at the market. She had an unusual name – and the first time I saw her, she'd just dropped something, but when I picked it up to give it back to her, she turned and walked away like she'd…I dunno, like she'd seen a ghost, but she came back a minute later and introduced herself to me! London is weird, Dan."

"Want to go back?" he asked lightly, half hoping she'd say yes, but she shook her head and smiled up at him. She hooked her hands around his neck and drew him down for a tender, languid kiss.

"Mm-mm," she went on a moment later. "No, I want to stay right here, with you. Besides, this is where my roots are, right? I might find some answers, finally."

"Yeah," he replied softly. He brushed her hair back and leaned down, kissing her again, then settled in beside her, gazing down at her, one hand settled on her opposite hip. So comfortable with her that he could hardly believe it. What was this strange world he was living in: in love with Hermione Granger, helping her, desperate to make sure she loved him, too, that she'd stay with him…knowing it was a fight against fate, somehow. If someone had asked him, ages ago, if he'd ever imagine his life to be this way now, he'd have said definitely not, that it was impossible. And yet he couldn't imagine things being any other way. What will be, will be, he mused. Jean gazed up at him and lifted a hand to his cheek, brushing the fuzz of his five o'clock shadow, running her thumb across his sideburns.

"What are you thinking?" she asked and he shook his head.

"Nothing…except that I love you." When her smile broadened, he went on. "So, you made a friend today?"

"Mm," she said. "I did. Or, I guess I did. She apologized for not thanking me and explained that I looked like someone she used to know. She didn't dwell on it, though. I imagine it was too painful? Anyhow, she seemed nice enough. One can never tell, though."

"That's true," Draco replied. "So?" he prompted. "Who was she? Or are you not going to tell me? Want to keep your new friend all to yourself?"

"I do. She's too pretty for me to introduce her yet. She has ginger hair," Jean explained wistfully. Draco didn't frown, though he wanted to. A love of ginger hair seemed to be a throwback to Jean's – Hermione's – old days. Not that he wanted to discourage anything that would help her remember, ultimately. He just…hell. He just wanted her, all to himself. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Fortunately for you, I don't care too much for Gingers. Never have. I like brunettes. 'Specially ones with curly hair."

Jean giggled and pushed at him, but this time he refused to budge and began tickling her relentlessly.

"Tell me her name!" he crowed. "Or I'll keep this up!"

"Never!" Jean laughed, twisting beneath him this way and that, trying to get away. He continued his assault and she finally begged for mercy.

"Alright! I'll tell, I'll…tell," she gasped and he stopped immediately.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked and she rolled her eyes.

"This is all a ploy to keep from having to go for a walk in the rain, isn't it?" she asked and he grinned.

"And this is all a ploy to stall, isn't it?" he retorted and she took several deep breaths before bursting into laughter as he lifted his hands again, threatening her with wiggling fingers.

"No, no!" she shouted. "I'll tell, I'll tell!" He gave her a break by sitting up and hauling on his rain boots as he waited and she finally sat up as well, her hair in disarray, her cheeks pink, her eyes still sparkling with laughter. "She was so strange, Dan, but nice. I hope I run into her again. Oh, what was her name exactly…something short for Virginia, I think. What was it? Ah, that was it. Ginny. Virginia Weasel, or Weasley, or something."

Draco had to work very hard not to miss a beat as he pulled on his other boot. In fact, there was only a slight hesitation as he finished with his shoes and then turned to her, clapping his hands on his thighs.

"That is an interesting name. Poor thing. I imagine she got teased a lot in school."

Jean made a rueful face. "I imagine so."

Draco looked her up and down. "Are you ready for that walk, love?"

She nodded eagerly and he stood up and held out a hand to her. "Come on, then. Let's get our coats. Of course, you know what the best part about a walk in the rain is," he went on as they trundled off down the hall together. At her negative response, he grinned. "Why, it's coming back home and getting warm again."

She laughed aloud at that and he felt the knot in his chest ease some. So. The inevitable had finally happened. Getting the first name wrong didn't matter – of course she'd assume Ginny was short for something relatively normal. The bottom line was that his time with her was now shorter than ever. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now, other than bide his time. And it just made moments like these more precious than ever. Walks in the rain were something to be treasured, the memories to be tucked away deep in his heart for all those days to come when she wouldn't be there to share them with him any longer.

Opening the front door for her, he walked beside her on their way out of the building, ready with the umbrella the second the rain started to hit them, and though her eyes eagerly took in the sights around them, his never left her face.

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><p><strong>AN: Do you like it? Check yes or no. :D <strong>


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, I see nothing, I make nothing. Something like that, right? :D**

**AN: Can I just say…I never thought I would be looking up the spelling and definition of 'smoochy'. Either my life has reached a new low or my dedication as an author a new high. You decide. Be kind. Also – present day chapter, but as you can see by the end, we'll be moving on to the origin of Malfoy's involvement.**

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><p>Ginny set her tray down in front of Harry's and nervously glanced about before taking her seat. He looked up at her curiously. Why was she nervous? It certainly wasn't the first time they'd been forced to have their dinner date in the Ministry cafeteria – it wasn't even the first time Ron had joined them as well. He set down his fork and stared at her.<p>

"Gin, what's up?"

She picked up her own fork and was about to shove an obscene amount of food in her mouth to save her from answering when Harry reached across and gently lowered her hand. Ron stared at them both.

"Oy, no smoochy-smoochy times, you promised," he joked and Harry shook his head.

"Farthest from, right Ginny?"

She ducked her head and snatched her hand away and Ron's mouth dropped open.

"What's going on?"

"That's what I'm hoping my fiancée will tell us," Harry replied, still watching Ginny. She finally lifted her head and shrugged.

"What can I say, I've been lousy at lying since the war ended."

Ron snorted. "You mean since that rock landed on your finger," he muttered, tossing a glance at her engagement ring. Harry grinned.

"More the benefit," he retorted, then settled his gaze on Ginny again. "Now, what _is_ going on? You've been acting strange for the last week, just about and I know that it can't have been my suggesting you move in, because you were absolutely over the moon about that…"

"I didn't need to hear that!" Ron exclaimed, wincing in mock horror and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Alright, ok," she said. "Something happened, you're right, Harry." She nibbled on her lower lip for a moment, then looked at them both seriously. They waited patiently for her to find her voice again…and promptly lost theirs at her news.

"I saw her too."

Harry managed to find some words. "You did? You did! Gin, that's fantastic! What did she look like? Was it her? The same one I saw the other night? Not just imagining it, were you?"

"She looked like Hermione, only short hair – that sound right?"

Harry looked like he wanted to stand on the table and dance a jig. Ron clamped a hand on one shoulder, making sure he stayed in his seat and then looked at Ginny, his expression considerably more solemn.

"So you two aren't just hallucinating, is that it?"

"Ron, I swear, that's what I've been trying to tell you! Ok, so it's been a lot more consistent the last few weeks, I get that. I know I drove you both mad with my constant sightings back in the old days, but I promise, this time it's for real."

Ginny's expression fell and she reached across for Harry's hand. "Harry…listen, you have to prepare yourself. Yes, it looks like her, but it isn't, not really. There wasn't a hint of recognition there, absolutely nothing. It was like…when she didn't speak, it was her, but the moment she opened her mouth…"

"You talked to her? Ginny, are you absolutely certain…?"

"I did, Harry, and I'm telling you – as much as I thought I was looking at one of my best friends, I might have been…Bellatrix Lestrange, for all it bothered her!"

Harry was quiet for a long moment and Ron squeezed his shoulder, feeling his own heart beating fast and nervous.

"Harry, I'm sorry, but you know this doesn't mean you're wrong. It just means there's a girl out there with her face. Hermione could still be somewhere else, for all we know. Isn't that the point of reopening the case?" Harry didn't respond right away and Ron added to Ginny, "Better tell us about her anyhow. We'll need to put it in the case file. Why don't you come back to the office with us and we'll discuss it further then, eh?"

Harry roused himself and clapped his hand over Ron's reassuringly, then reached for Ginny's hand too.

"I'm sorry, you two. I knew it wasn't going to be that easy. Didn't stop me hoping, though…but you're right, Ron. Come back with us, Gin, and we'll take a statement. And who knows, maybe she's a distant relative, somehow. I know we investigated all that before, but it can't hurt trying again. What have we got to lose?"

"Nothing," Ron said solemnly, then cracked a dry smile. The three of them finished their dinners quickly in relative quiet and Ginny went with them back to their office, eager to put her encounter with Hermione's doppelganger behind her as soon as possible. Harry didn't need to know that she'd been shopping at the same market all week, finding little excuses to go – an empty spice jar here, an extra toilet roll there – in the hopes of bumping into her again. She was sure that put in her shoes, her husband would be doing the same, after all. It was addictive, seeing the woman, knowing that Hermione still existed somewhere, if only in appearance. Still, Ginny also knew it was unhealthy and she hoped for the woman's sake that she'd be unable to add anything to the investigation. Otherwise she wouldn't have a moment's peace until Hermione was finally delivered back to them.

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><p>Draco wiped his hands on his pants for the tenth time, certain he'd never sweat so much before in his life – not even when he'd been a certified Death Eater, and that had been his most terrifying experience to date. He ignored the strange looks Theo was giving him and gestured at the closed door.<p>

"She's just in there. Listen, Theo, just…when you see her, please don't make her uncomfortable. It could be…awkward."

"I'm a trained Healer, Draco. I know how to put a patient at ease." He hesitated, one hand on the doorknob. "But aren't you coming in too?"

Draco shook his head. "No, I…she said she wants to do this by herself. Between you and me, I think she's given up. Not that she'd ever let on. Relentlessly optimistic on the surface of things, at least."

Theo nodded thoughtfully. "I see. Well, I'll go in, then. The preliminary consultation shouldn't take longer than thirty minutes or so. Just a little question and answer session, that sort of thing. And don't worry, Draco. I won't scare your girl off. Won't even bring up magic –"

"Don't!" Draco exclaimed and Theo stared at him. Draco shook his head, embarrassed.

"It's just that, well, I haven't said anything yet…"

"Right, of course not. I just said I wouldn't bring it up, didn't I? Merlin. Rest easy, Draco. We'll get her sorted." Theo patted Draco on the shoulder and then opened the door. Jean was sitting with her back to the door, so only her slim shoulders and short hair were visible over the back of the chair. Theo walked inside, speaking as he went and Draco caught his greeting just as the door closed behind him.

"Hello, Miss…Jean, is it…?"

The door clicked shut and there was silence in the hall. Draco wondered, rather belatedly, if he shouldn't have insisted on a different name for her. But no, he had to trust Theo, trust that the man wouldn't betray him…or her. Then, with a soft, aggrieved sigh, he shoved his hands in his pockets and began to pace.

He didn't have to wait the thirty minutes after all. In fact, he didn't even wait five. Not a full minute after the door had closed, it opened again and an ashen-faced Theo Nott was standing there, staring at him, his mouth a thin, grim line.

Draco watched him expectantly, nervously – like a bridegroom or a father-to-be. Theo would have found it amusing, or even sweet, except he was still reeling from the initial shock of finding Hermione Granger – no, scratch that – of finding a Muggle look alike of Hermione Granger sitting in Draco Malfoy's apartment.

He glanced behind him to see Jean had turned in her seat and was watching them both curiously. Theo eased the door shut. He felt his blood begin pumping again and turned back to Draco with a stern expression.

"Malfoy," he said curtly and the other man shoved his hands deeper in his pockets. The worry on his face – the guilt, the concern – made Theo give a sudden sigh. He raked a hand through his hair and glared. "Malfoy, you're sick."

Draco's face fell. "I'm not," he whispered. "She is. Please, can't you help her? You didn't even talk to her any!"

"No, and I don't intend to! I'm not going to get involved in this game, not this time. You do realize that if Potter and Weasley – if the Ministry, for Merlin's sake – find out about this…" He sighed again. "They're already launching a second investigation, reopening her case. It's bad enough, that people keep claiming to have sightings of her, but if they find out it's because your latest girlfriend looks just like her…Malfoy, you need to drop this now. I always knew you had a bit of a thing for her back then, but this is just sick."

"A bit of a thing? I what? No, no, Nott, you've got it wrong. Please, Theo – stop!" Draco exclaimed with a hoarse cry, reaching out and arresting Theo's motion with one swift movement. He gripped his friend's shoulders hard.

"Let me go, Draco."

"No, you have to listen to me. Please. This isn't what you think it is."

Theo paled again. "If it isn't what I think it is, then that leaves exactly one other explanation, doesn't it? And do you honestly think I'd be any more interested in getting involved in that, either? Are you mental?"

Draco let go suddenly, but the look on his face was so desperate, so scared, that Theo didn't make good on his threat. Instead, he stayed where he was, watching one of his oldest friends with sudden resignation. He puffed his cheeks out in annoyance, pursing his lips and looking away, checking his watch. He looked back up at Draco.

"Fine. You have two minutes, maybe three before she gets suspicious. I told her there was something I'd forgotten to go over with you." When Draco just stared at him, Theo sighed. "Talk. Now. Or have you forgotten how in the last minute and a half?"

Draco shook himself. "No, I…oh, god. Where do I start?"

"The beginning, perhaps?"

"I don't even know where the beginning is," Draco admitted. He met Theo's gaze bravely. "But whatever this is, however it started, it isn't what you think."

"What I think is that on that business trip of yours a pretty face finally caught more than your eye and then you found out she didn't just look like Hermione Granger, she _was_ Hermione Granger. And that's when things got complicated. Am I right so far?"

"No," Draco repeated and this time his voice was firm, confident. "Listen, I…this is going to take longer than two minutes, Theo. Why don't you have the consultation first and then come out and we'll talk. I can take you into the study."

Theo eyed Draco for a long moment and to both men, it seemed the seconds ticked by slowly, pregnant with mutual regard…and mutual suspicion. Theo finally nodded.

"Alright, but the only reason – the absolute, only reason, you understand – that I am saying yes to this harebrained plan is _not_ because I'm actually curious about your deluded reasons for having her here. I could care less whether you fancy you're in love with her, or are trying to take revenge on Potter, or think you might actually clear your family name for once by rescuing her. No, the only reason I am agreeing to any of this is because – "

"Is because you took one look at her and could see she's been through hell and that she really does need help," Draco finished for him, though that clearly wasn't all he wanted to say. Theo took a deep breath as if to argue, but seemed to think better of it.

"Well," he said instead, "just so we're clear."

"Perfectly," Draco replied, then nodded at the door behind him. "Go on. We'll talk when you're finished."

"Fine. I expect you to have yourself sorted by then. Half an hour precisely."

Draco pressed his lips together and gave a short nod, then watched Theo disappear back into the room, the door clicking shut once more. Half an hour to order his thoughts about Granger? Blast it all. He never had been very good at word problems, and yet…Theo would be expecting answers of some sort. Draco sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He stared at the door. Theo had suggested starting at the beginning. Well, since he didn't know exactly when her beginning was, he'd just have to start with his own. That would put things at approximately three months back, when his position with Wiztech Industries as VP of Foreign Development had taken him to Australia on an extended business exchange intended to ease a merger…

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><p><strong>AN: Kekeke...are we enjoying ourselves yet? Oh, the drama...and nothing has even happened yet! But it will. :)<strong>


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Come on, you guys haven't figured it out yet? I don't own this nor make a profit from it. All rights to JK and co.**

**AN: Today, Microsoft Word tried to correct my grammar from 'you are' to 'you is'. Epic fail, Word. Oh, I hope you like this chapter. I chose to ignore Word's prompts for the sake of giving you something, oh, _well written_. So, you guys can think of this section of the story as part 2. We had a prologue, part 1, and now, with Draco's back story, we start on part 2. **

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><p>It was March in Australia and compared to London, Draco was roasting. Not that it was unpleasant. He was having a wonderful time, in fact, or would have been if Astoria Greengrass hadn't seen fit to accompany him. He still wasn't sure what had possessed his mother, offering to pay for her to go with him like it was standard that he take a girlfriend on a business trip – and this time not just any business trip, no. This time it was a three month exchange to prepare for a merger with a Muggle company. Wiztech had been doing that a lot recently – acquiring Muggle companies under their Foreign Development department in order to diversify and stabilize their own assets. Their empire, if you will, Draco thought, and oh, how it was an empire. In fact, once the exchange was over he had to be back in London pronto for a series of meetings about the acquisition they'd made in their own country just before Christmas. There were rumors the Muggle company wanted to throw an…event. Draco wrinkled his nose. He had no desire to attend any events, Muggle related or not, and mainly because attending events meant he had to have a date. Having a date these days usually meant he ended up taking Astoria and Astoria, while generally a sweet girl, had a short temper and an even shorter opinion of anything Muggle related and Draco knew – he just <em>knew<em> – that the longer he let their relationship go on, the more of a mess it would be when he ended things.

And oh, how he was going to end things. Especially after this wretched trip was over. He glanced up from his menu and smiled at the businessmen sitting opposite him just as a breeze rolled in off the ocean. They were seated on the deck of a restaurant on the water and the sun was shining brightly. The beautiful setting almost made Draco rethink what he was about to say…almost. Unfortunately, someone had to take responsibility for Astoria's rude behavior whenever she was forced to be around the Muggles he now did business with a great deal of the time. Behavior like ignoring them outright, or 'accidentally' spilling her drink(s), or worse still, refusing to call him by his business alias for the Muggle world. It all gave him a headache, frankly, and while he'd rather not think of it at all, it was part of his job to create goodwill, not alienate people because his girlfriend hadn't learned a damn thing in the last war. Pasting a smile on his face, he set his menu down and leaned over the table.

"About yesterday, gentlemen," he began and the men immediately waved their hands and shook their heads.

"You're not going to apologize for that beautiful woman again, are you?" one of them asked, laughing.

The other joined him. "No need, my boy. I can see why you brought her along – a woman like that doesn't need manners!"

Draco winced and started to speak again only to have the first man cut him off.

"No, honestly, Daniel. It's quite alright. In fact, why don't you take a day or two off from meetings and spend some time with her? I'm sure that's why she behaved that way at the dinner."

Draco resisted the urge to point out "Take some time…? But gentlemen, surely…I only arrived a few days ago…"

"Please, Daniel," the other man said. "And in that amount of time you've successfully trained our most important staff in the particulars of the take-over, not to mention greased enough wheels to keep this merger running smoothly without you for a day or two."

"Greased wheels…?" Draco echoed helplessly and the first man smiled again. It was a patronizing smile, but Draco knew he meant well. Or at least, he hoped he meant well.

"Listen, Daniel. I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but you're a smart man. You may be young, but you're sharp. You have old eyes. I can tell these things about you. So please, take this opportunity to spend a little time with your girlfriend. In fact, I'd recommend you just put a day or two like this into your schedule every week while she's here. Er…I mean, while you're here."

Understanding hit Draco like the Whomping Willow. He sat back in his seat.

"I see," he murmured and the two men glanced at one another uneasily, then back at Draco, smiles plastered on their faces once more.

"Do you?" one of them asked and Draco nodded. Oh, yes, he did. He understood perfectly that his newest business associates found Astoria as much of an embarrassment and liability as he did, and they were trying to give him an out. They hoped – and it was unfortunately a misplaced hope, Draco knew that much – that if he'd spend some time with her every now and again then she might behave herself.

"I do. Well, gentlemen, if you truly don't mind, then, I believe I'll skip our lunch. It seems I have somewhere to be…for the time being."

The men concealed their mutual sighs of relief very poorly and then stood up to shake hands with Draco before he left the table and headed back along the deck towards sidewalk. He managed to contain his anger until after he'd exited the restaurant through its small gate and was headed down the stairs, towards the sand and surf. Even then, the only indication that he was well and truly riled was the way he shed clothes. He tore off his suit as he went, one piece at a time – first the tie, next the light jacket, then rolling up his sleeves, kicking off his shoes, hopping awkwardly as he tugged off his socks and finally he landed on his rear in the sand in order to draw up his knees and roll up his pants' legs.

"Bloody exchange." Up went one leg – roll, roll, roll. "Bloody Muggles." Up went the other leg – roll, roll, roll. "Bloody Astoria." He lowered his legs and then out went both shoes as he flung them far, far away down the beach. Then he sighed as nobly as was possible and, propping his arms over his knees, rested his head. He was so busy feeling sorry for himself and trying to decide what to do about the situation that he almost completely missed the couple that was walking along the beach, yards away. Almost. He was just turning his head back and forth in his arms, considering beating it against the nearby pilings of a dock, when he saw them.

They were an odd couple, to say the least. The girl was considerably younger than the man, her curly hair fashioned in a pixie cut, and her diminutive body would have been tantalizing in the two-piece she wore, if an oversized beach wrap hadn't hidden half of it. The man, though clearly fit at one time, had the sagging musculature of an aging athlete and his gray hair was cropped short as well to hide his pattern baldness. Though it first appeared that they were walking together, as Draco watched them he could see the girl – or was it a woman, it was hard to tell – was actually following the man by a foot or so. The man didn't bother to wait for her, his long strides carrying him away in just a few steps, forcing her to run forward every few feet in order to catch up. Draco could see immediately that there was something wrong with the picture they presented.

Maybe it was the way she followed him as he effortlessly ignored her, maybe it was the way she gazed up at him, as though she meant to ask him something only to think better of it time and again. Either way, there was something fishy going on there that went beyond how creepy the age difference was. Why, the girl looked hardly older than sixteen! Well…it wasn't like it was his business. Draco watched them a moment longer, glad of at least something to distract him from how miserable he felt just then. Not glad for the girl, of course, but…he watched her suddenly stumble and realized that the shoes he'd thrown earlier were right in their path. The man had easily avoided them, but the girl had missed them entirely because she'd been too busy watching the man. Now he saw her go down, saw her open her mouth in a startled exclamation. Damn, but he couldn't hear a word they were saying, what with the monotonous roar of the waves and the ambient sounds from the walk above them and their fellow beachgoers, further down – not that one needed words to interpret the picture.

The girl had fallen to her hands and knees and she scrambled back to her feet, though she picked up one of his shoes in the process. She looked back up at her…what? What was the man to her? Her paramour? Her sugar daddy, perhaps? Draco shrugged, irritated and saw the girl open her mouth again, then close it and look at his shoe again. The man hadn't even noticed she'd fallen and had continued down the beach, away from the girl. Her body tensed, as if suddenly panicked, and she began to run after the man, desperate to catch up, unfortunately still carrying his shoe. Draco lifted a hand to his mouth, ready to call after her, to let her know he'd probably need his shoe later, when he saw her lift a hand to the man, presumably to explain herself, although why she'd need to if the man hadn't noticed in the first place…then the unforeseeable happened.

She'd only touched him, Draco thought. Just a light caress on his back, to let him know she was there and the man stopped dead in his tracks. The girl immediately fell back from him, her shoulders hunched. They were too far away now for him to tell if they were even speaking any longer, let alone to truly make out their faces, but he could tell by the tense lines of their bodies what was going on and – Merlin help him – what was about to happen. A ripple went through the man's shoulders and when he turned the girl froze in place, though it was easy to see from her stance that she wanted to run. Draco could only assume words were exchanged because the girl held up the shoe hesitantly. At the sight of it, the man lifted a hand and grasped her wrist, and her hand and the shoe dangled helplessly from the end of it at the pressure he must have been exerting. The man shook her by the arm twice, hard, and the girl moved then, but closer to him rather than further away, as if attempting to appease him.

The man finally let her go, giving a sharp nod, and she turned and ran back up the beach, to the spot where she'd first stumbled. With unsteady hands and a wary glance about her, she set the shoe back down in the sand. Then she stood and ran back over to the man, who hadn't taken his eyes from her. He grabbed her wrist again, gave her another shake, and then they started down the beach as they had when Draco had first seen them.

He let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and turned his gaze from the couple to the spot where he presumed his shoes were. Maybe he'd misread things. Maybe the girl was the man's daughter. Maybe they were having a terrible holiday. Or maybe he'd gotten things right, though he hoped to god he had them wrong. Standing, he looked down the beach and was barely able to discern the couple anymore from the other beachgoers that littered the sand further down. Draco felt something heavy come and settle on his heart, heavier than the knowledge that a girlfriend he didn't even care for that much had likely jeopardized a position he'd held for just under a year. Things can always be worse, he mused sadly. Then he gathered up his discarded clothing about him and walked down to where he'd seen her fall, hoping to find his shoes. Sure enough, there lay one, still half buried in the sand. He picked it up and shook it out, then looked about for the other.

It was sitting by itself on top of the sand and had already been shaken out and dusted off by the unsteady hands of the girl. Draco observed it for a moment and then reached for it, picking it up and turning it about. He glanced sharply over to where the surf began. No, the tide was still out, the sand about him hot and dry. He looked back at the shoe in his hand and wondered why it was covered in drops of salty water.

His heart grew heavier and he suddenly shot to his feet and whirled about, searching the beach desperately for the man and girl. They were nowhere in sight.

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><p>Draco arrived back at his hotel suite looking disheveled, hot and grumpy only to find Astoria sitting on the balcony, toenails freshly painted and a cocktail in one hand. She tossed a careless glance his way.<p>

"Oh, Draco, darling, you didn't go to the beach without me, did you? And in your suit?"

"Astoria, darling," he mimicked, "you haven't been spending my money without me, have you?"

She frowned and sipped determinedly on her drink. Draco rolled his eyes, not in the mood to deal with her. Not after the way that lunch meeting had gone. Not after what he'd seen on the beach.

I might not like Astoria all that much any longer, but I don't bully her, he thought. What sort of man treats a woman that way? Like she's there for his pleasure?

"You're really asking that question, Draco? After everything you've done?" Astoria sniffed and looked back at him, wrinkling her nose.

He looked up at her, startled. "Sorry, was I talking to myself?"

"I'm used to it," she replied, shrugging. She sat up in her chair and, picking up her drink, tottered back into the room, her toe separators making her step carefully. The sight amused Draco and he felt his tension ease some. He could do this. He and Astoria could break things off and remain friendly…couldn't they?

"Listen, Astoria," he began and she stopped before him, one hand on her hip, cocktail straw between her lips. He raised a brow and looked away again. No, never mind. He couldn't do this – the minute he broke up with her she'd run back home to her mom _and_ his, crying. The break up would have to wait a little longer. But he did have the right to point out how difficult she was making his job. "Do you think you could play along on this trip? Just once? This is a huge opportunity. I'm going to be here for three months and in that time it has to be my home. I have to get on with everyone here."

Astoria wrinkled her nose again and out came the straw from her lips. "Draco, I hate what you do," she said as if that explained everything, as if it were her answer. He frowned.

"I understand that, believe me. Your behavior has made your feelings quite clear," he said, "but it's still my job and if you hadn't noticed, not only am I good at it, I actually do enjoy it. So if you have any illusions left about our relationship lasting, then you're either going to have to learn to like it, or learn to pretend to like it."

Astoria frowned. Her eyes welled up. Her lower lip trembled threateningly…and Draco shook his head.

"Cry all you want. I know you're only in this because you think if you hang on long enough you'll have me wrapped around your finger and I'll marry you. Astoria, for the sake of our friendship, don't do this. If you want to stay for a while, fine, but I won't have you ruining my career with your childish behavior. The war is over and if I choose to work with Muggles and wizards alike, that's my decision."

She cried anyway and Draco, who personally thought he'd gotten rather soft after the war, sank his head in his hands as he listened to her postulate in warbling – and wobbling – tones. For all she went on, he thought, one would think she led a very sad life. And yet she has no idea how much worse things could be. She never took the mark. She never faced Voldemort on threat of death. She's never gone without…I've never struck her, degraded her…his thoughts turned to the girl on the beach again and he sighed as Astoria went on and on.

"Draco – _ungh_ – all I want is for you to – _ungh_ – spend a little time with me! But you're always – _ungh_ – busy and you never care that I'm stuck in hotels all day doing _nothing_!" she wailed. Wearily, Draco patted the bed upon which he'd been sitting and Astoria sat down hard, still weeping giant, crocodile tears. He sighed.

"Astoria, as a matter of fact I happen to have an open day or two in my schedule. If I spend that time with you, will you swear you'll behave? Because, so help me, if you are rude to these associates one more time you can spend all of Mother's money that you want, but you won't see a sickle of mine."

Astoria continued to sniffle as though that might change his mind and Draco grit his teeth.

"I won't be swayed, Astoria. I promise you, one more slip-up and we are through."

At that the sniffles died away and Draco finally cast a wary glance at her. A huge, false smile was plastered across her face and he wondered, not for the first time, why he kept dating at all. Maybe he was just a glutton for punishment, maybe a hopeless romantic. Either way, he knew he wouldn't have to worry about her for much longer. There was no way Astoria would manage to tolerate his business for an extended period of time, let alone three whole months of fake smiles and limp handshakes and only a day or two a week of time devoted wholly to her needs. She'd crack under the pressure, he knew that. Still, he smiled back at her just as brightly.

"Is that a yes?" he asked and she nudged him playfully with her shoulder.

"Oh, Draco," she laughed. "You're such a tease. Alright, then. What shall we do today? You've already been to the beach," she said, pouting.

"It's up to you, Astoria. Just remember, when we're out…"

"Yes, yes. It's Daniel Mains. Well, come on then, Daniel. Get yourself cleaned up. You're taking me out!" With that, she flounced away, back to the balcony to gather her things and bring them in and he watched her go before standing up and taking himself to the ensuite. A shower sounded good – a cool one – and maybe that would keep him from exploding around her as he suspected he was in danger of doing. No, no. After the day he'd had so far, the last thing he needed or wanted was another conflict. So, he had a day off. He'd enjoy himself, regardless of business, or girlfriends, or interfering mothers, or…sad little girls on crowded, but lonely beaches.

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><p><strong>AN: Can y'all figure out which direction this is going yet? I hope you enjoyed this chapter. More mystery and drama ahead. Mm, mystery brownies. My favorite.<strong>


	8. Chapter 7

**I do not own HP or make any money here, all rights to JK and co.**

**AN: So, I'm spreading this out a bit more than my muse wanted me to, but it's for the best. I want to really capture every nuance I can of what this Hermione is like and what the situation is, exactly. I hope you like this chapter. **

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><p>An entire two weeks passed without a hint of trouble from Astoria aside from her increasingly expensive eye. Draco put up with the shopping, mainly because he knew she wouldn't be getting anything else from him soon enough – not that he'd expected her to even last a week. At their last dinner meeting she'd been utterly charming, saying and doing all the right things, with the only hint of her true feelings being the rather stiff handshakes she gave and a mild twitch in her left cheek. Draco would have found it amusing if he'd thought it <em>didn't<em> indicate an eventual blow-out, but a blow-out, at least, would have the added benefit of getting rid of her once and for all. Apologies are easy, he thought. It's all the rubbish leading up to apologies that's hard.

So the days had crept by in painful awareness of one another, sharing meals, making dinner conversation, only to revert to silent elevator rides and dull remarks when they were alone. And the nights…Merlin take it, those were the worst. Ever since their agreement Draco hadn't much felt like touching a hair on her head and Astoria, bless her, finally seemed to understand that. She hadn't made an overture to him either and they'd shared the bed in quiet resignation, the lights off and the sounds of the streets outside the only music in the room.

Draco found himself yearning to see the girl again – the one from the beach, with the hunched shoulders and the hidden tears. What was her story, he wondered. What made a person live that way…and yet he didn't really need to ask those questions. He imagined life under Voldemort was all the explanation he'd ever need for why a woman would stay with a man like that, why she'd put up with abuse and fear. And now? Now, he lived in a very different sort of fear: the fear that all his careful planning, all his efforts to rehabilitate himself after the war would be for naught, that he'd be sabotaged by his own family once more in their misguided efforts to obtain grandchildren and heirs. He turned restlessly on his side of the vast bed and heard Astoria sigh.

"Draco," she murmured. He didn't respond. "Draco," she repeated. "Are you awake?"

He still didn't answer and she turned as well and he knew she was staring at his back, watching him for signs of movement, of life, of actually listening to her for the first time in a long time. Merlin, but he just wanted their farce of a relationship over. He nearly said as much and then thought, no, I said I'd give her a chance. Still, he didn't move a muscle.

"Draco, let's go to the beach tomorrow," she said. "Let's lie in the sun and not think about anything. I promise I won't ask for anything, if you'll go with me. Hmm? What do you say, darling? Just a day at the beach, just us."

Draco closed his eyes and feigned sleep and a moment later he heard her sigh again, felt her roll over. His eyes opened again and he stared into the dark for a long time, eyes unseeing, mind far, far away.

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><p>When Daphne got up late the next morning, she was surprised to find Draco sitting up already, having bitter, instant coffee as he brooded at the new day from the comfort of the balcony. More than his still being there at all, however, she was surprised at his dress: a white linen button down over stylish swim trunks. He looked back at her, sensing her staring at him, and she thought he'd almost smiled.<p>

"You heard me?" she questioned immediately and he took a sip of his coffee, made a face.

"So, the beach today," he responded, not really answering her. She smiled broadly and walked out to him, leaning on the balcony rail with him and looking out at the gorgeous, sunny day.

"I knew you were listening," she said. "Oh, Draco, thank you…"

He cut her off and wiped the smile from her face entirely with his next words.

"Astoria, I don't intend to marry you. I never have."

Her jaw dropped. "Draco, what are you…"

"I just don't want there to be any misunderstandings or awkwardness from now on," he replied. "It's time I made myself clear – not that I haven't been trying to."

Astoria's face turned ugly with shame and embarrassment. "Oh, you made yourself clear enough now. And what am I meant to do now that I'm already here, already packed up my life to come and stay with you?"

"I didn't ask you to do that," he pointed out. "In fact, I told you it was a bad idea. I'm sorry if I haven't been clear enough in the past, but I told both you and my mother I didn't want you here and you both ignored my wishes."

Astoria found herself quite unable to argue with that and stood back, her jaw working in anger as she tried to contain herself.

"So?" she finally asked, practically spitting the words. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"I recommend you cut your trip short," he said. "Or you can stay, but I'll have to insist on a separate suite. If you stay it will be as my friend, not my lover," he went on and his voice was firm. She glared at him and he sipped at his coffee again.

"Well," she said after a minute, "you've gotten brave."

"Not really," he replied. "Because once I go home I'll have to face my parents."

"I see. And you think it'll be worth it, I suppose. You know your mother loves me."

"That's true," Draco said, but he smiled again, softly this time. "Still, I am her only child. I think she'll live."

"Oo! Draco Malfoy, I hate you!" Astoria suddenly exclaimed and started back into the room…Draco suspected it was to begin breaking things and he reached out and caught her arm. She was so surprised he'd want to touch her after their spat that she didn't try to shake him off and instead stared up at him, her eyes wide.

"Astoria, don't leave like this. Come on," he said, the smile still upon his lips. "Let's go to the beach."

When she didn't respond immediately, too shocked at his insolence for words, his smile deepened. She finally remembered to tug her arm away, but her glare softened.

"You're mental, Malfoy, you know that?" she asked him and he laughed – his first genuine laugh in several days.

They went to the beach.

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><p>Much later in the day, after some time spent in the water and out, they were settled on a sandy dune with a large umbrella nearby if they wanted to avoid a tan, although Astoria had made it very clear she intended to return home a lovely golden color. Draco wondered a little at her unnatural cheer as they lay out together. He suspected that she was clinging to the vain hope that he'd just been having her on earlier in his own particularly cruel manner. He tried not to let that stray thought bother him too much. After all, he'd made himself as clear as possible and it wasn't as if he'd been entirely reticent on the topic of their relationship going beyond the casual. Astoria is a smart witch and she knows upon which side her bread is buttered and that is all, he told himself as much as possible.<p>

The day stretched on and for all that it had started out rather painfully, Draco thought he and Astoria were getting on well – perhaps better than they ever had when they'd both been pretending to be things they weren't. He stretched languidly on his chair and glanced over at Astoria, lifting his sunglasses momentarily to make sure she wasn't burning…and with a swift intake of breath he sat up, pushing the glasses all the way up, over his forehead. He settled them on top of his head with a surprisingly shaky hand and swallowed hard, feeling his mouth go dry. He glanced at Astoria quickly, then back up at the face that had captured his attention.

It was the girl from that day on the beach, he'd swear by the hunch of her shoulders, by the tentative, sweet and wholly uncertain way she looked about as she helped a nearby child build a sandcastle. Her eyes, when they weren't darting about, were trained wholly on the little tyke before her who seemed determined to make a lopsided tower. She was kneeling just beyond Astoria, somewhat down from them and she was wearing that same oversized beachwear he was certain was hiding a tiny figure. Though now that he had a closer look, whether she was diminutive by nature or sheer abuse, he wasn't sure…not that any of that was why he'd felt his mouth go dry and his throat constrict upon seeing her. No, the reason he was having trouble breathing was because she looked so much like Hermione Granger it was as if he were seeing a ghost. Not all the haircuts or poor treatment in the world could hide the shape of that face, that clear gaze, the purse of those lips. He could picture her instantly, could see her taunting him, naively defending him, demanding he shut it before she socked him one…

"Astoria," he suddenly murmured, his voice hoarse. She was lying on her stomach and one of her shoulders twitched, but that was it. He spared a glance for her. "Astoria," he repeated and after a long moment, she managed to prop herself up on her forearms.

"What is it?" she asked, pouting and he nodded his head in the direction of the girl – no, the woman.

"See her? I'm not imagining things, am I?"

"See what?" Astoria asked, thoroughly irritated by then. She rolled herself over with a sigh and looked about…and froze. "Draco," she said, her voice small and inquiring.

Draco felt the insanity of what he thought he was seeing hit him and he suddenly sat back again with a laugh.

"Sorry, Astoria. I just…crazy, isn't it? I saw her and for a second I thought…"

Astoria hesitated, looking from the girl to Draco and back. She pursed her lips and raised a brow.

"I don't know…I suppose…it is very like her, isn't it?"

"No," Draco said. "There's no way. Five years, Astoria. Nearly six. And she's been on a beach in Australia the whole time? No." Draco pulled his shades back down. "That's crazy," he repeated, as if to convince himself.

Astoria settled down again after a moment as well. Despite her initial shock, she found herself agreeing with Draco. "It is," she said. "You know, I hate to put it so bluntly, but those men need to get it through their heads that Hermione Granger, wherever she is now, is more than likely dead. I know it's cruel to say it, but there it is."

Draco shifted uncomfortably at her words and cleared his throat some. "Yeah," he finally murmured. "Yeah, I expect you're right."

Astoria prattled on a bit longer. "That girl is just some unfortunate Muggle. Can you imagine? Of all the faces you could possibly have, to look like Granger? The universe plays cruel jokes sometimes, Draco, love."

Draco glanced at her, a little bothered by her derisive tone, and lifted his head some to gaze across at the woman again. He didn't see any sign of the man yet, but he was sure that wherever the woman was, the man wouldn't be far away. Propping his arms behind his head, he scanned the beach, searching for the figure of the tall, older man he'd spied yesterday. Not finding him, he shrugged and turned his gaze back on the woman, glad that his view was hidden by the sunglasses. In fact, he was very glad in a moment because the woman tensed and looked up suddenly, as if she could feel herself being watched – though whether it was Draco's scrutiny she felt or that of her companion, he wasn't sure. And still, the man made no appearance and it was just the woman, crouching in the sand, being made to build a castle higher and grander – a castle that would be swept away with the evening tide, no doubt. It all made Draco rather sad to watch, but his gaze went undeterred and what seemed like just seconds later, but was in fact a full half hour, Astoria sat up again, momentarily blocking his view.

"I'm going in now," she told him. "If I stay out much longer I won't be tanning." She laughed a little, as if that were somehow amusing and Draco merely looked at her. She sighed. "Aren't you coming with me?" she asked and he shrugged and settled his head further against his arms.

"I'm comfortable," he informed her and Astoria sniffed.

"Oh, fine. I won't wait for you, though. I mean it. I'll go into dinner without you."

"And turn in early? Fine by me." He deliberately closed his eyes and could hear her standing beside him, seething, but a moment later she gave in with another of her light, false laughs.

"Alright, Draco, stay out here all you like. But I can't promise how well-behaved I'll be if I run into any of your associates."

"We've broken up anyway," he responded. "I have no trouble apologizing for my poor, enraged ex-girlfriend's misplaced fury."

Astoria stomped her feet – he could hear the crunch of the sand and feel the way some flew up against his chair and legs. He settled in further and sniffed some, pretending like he was going to sleep and several seconds later he heard her quiet scream of frustration and then the sounds of her gathering her things and stomping away. He opened his eyes again quickly to search out the woman.

She was still there, crouched in the sand, arms dangling over her knees as she contemplated the way the waves were lapping at the shore. Draco felt his mouth go dry again at this new view of her. In profile she somehow…she seemed older than the teenager he'd first assumed her to be and he knew that he'd been right to think of her as a woman. This was not just a woman, but one who was tired beyond measure and again, he wondered.

Again, he told himself he was crazy.

The woman didn't move and he realized that something was missing – the child was no longer with her. Not hers, then, no. The child had been taken away by its parents, no doubt. He saw her mouth droop at the corners and it confirmed what he'd suspected from before…that she must be incredibly lonely.

He wanted to help her, somehow. No one should be that lonely, he thought. No one deserves to be that lonely, saving Voldemort, perhaps. And certainly not pretty Muggles with unfortunate resemblances to dead war heroes. Them, least of all.

Not quite knowing what he was about, Draco had stood up and walked over to her…rather, he'd walked over to the castle. He crouched down in front of it, looking at it admiringly and he could feel the moment the woman looked at him. He didn't look back at her yet, though. He somehow realized that he needed to tread carefully with her, that she would bolt at the first sign of trouble.

He didn't speak to her. Instead, he lifted a hand to smooth out one of the turrets on the castle, brushing away a small imperfection in the wall. The woman watched him do this, watched as he moved on and began to improve another area. She finally spoke.

"That was meant to be an embrasure," she informed him and her voice was surprisingly cold, he thought. He also thought she even sounded exactly like a certain insufferable know-it-all. And yet there was a hesitation in the way she'd corrected him, an uncertainty of her own position that the true Hermione Granger would never have had by the time she grew into womanhood. No, that chit had always barreled right into every correction, not caring, rattling off facts and dates that had been memorized likely since birth with a bravado born of necessity.

A sudden stab of bittersweet nostalgia hit him – not just for her loss, but for all he had lost as well…his childhood, any innocence he may have possessed, it was all gone and he knew what the Wizarding world had felt over her disappearance. No matter who you were or what side you were on, those three had been a constant and to have one of them gone… His fingers faltered, accidentally destroying some battlements and he finally opened his mouth, apologies spilling out.

He turned his head, lifted his sunglasses to meet the woman's eyes, to apologize properly and found she didn't seem to care much. She'd already moved in right next to him, reaching up to catch the sand, to try and save the structure of the walls.

"Oh," she murmured, disappointed as the sand fell apart in her hands. "I didn't pack it tightly enough."

Her voice was so mournful and she was so close to him that Draco felt his throat close up again. What was wrong with him? It was just a woman – a sad, lonely woman who looked like a dead girl. There was no recognition for him in her eyes, nothing apart from sorrow over her crumbling castle. Desperate to help, to make up for being a complete idiot, Draco reached out and grabbed at her hands, trying to catch some of the sand she'd so carefully shaped.

"Here, let me," he began and she froze. He looked down at her, worried that he'd gone too far, stepped over an invisible line with her. She snatched her hands away suddenly and shot to her feet, dusting her hands off against her bare thighs as her over-shirt swung open to reveal the two-piece from before. His gaze traveled up her before he could stop himself and he flushed, embarrassed.

"I really am sorry," he said and he began to stand also. She shook her head sharply, indicating he should stay put and then pasted a bright smile on her face.

"No," she replied, "it's alright. I shouldn't have…um, I mean, bye. Thank you for your help. I truly…" She trailed off and gave him the tiniest of waves, then stepped around him and was running off. She darted little glances downward, almost as if she was looking back at him, but he couldn't quite tell…and then he realized what had made her stop.

The man was standing a few yards away, his back to them and arms crossed, waiting for her to join him before he started marching down the beach with her in tow, just as he had before. Draco slowly straightened up to his full height as he watched them walk away and the strange feeling in his throat returned in full force. The woman cast one more sidelong glance over her shoulder and then, just as he was sure she would look ahead again, she turned her head over her shoulder to look directly at him. The look in her eyes…it wasn't a plea. It wasn't even a question. It was a warning.

Stay away from me, it said. Stay away. Then she turned her head and followed her companion, dogging his footsteps.

Draco didn't let them escape his sight this time and watched until they were just specks on the beach, far, far out of his reach.

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><p><strong>AN: Oh, urgh, the drama. I prescribe cookies to take the edge off. That or a Weasley twin. Whichever is more readily available. )<strong>


	9. Chapter 8

**I don't own it, don't make money off it and all rights to JK and co.**

**AN: See my disclaimer at the bottom after you finish reading this chapter. Hope you enjoy it! Poor Draco, and his inner turmoil. :D**

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><p>Another two weeks passed and Draco was left alone in Australia, already a month into his stay. Astoria had taken him at his word and caught the first Portkey home and he hadn't had a single bit of trouble with his business associates since. The merger was moving along swimmingly and Draco managed to find an easy rhythm in his time there – Muggle by day, wizard by night. That sort of thing. His associates had even fallen into an easy rapport with him, going so far as to tease him over the way he carved a little bit of beach time into every single day. He accepted the teasing good-naturedly and ignored the women who stared at him a bit more with each passing day. Apparently enough time in the sun could manage to bleach even Malfoy hair and that in combination with his tan brought many admiring looks.<p>

Unfortunately, none of those looks came from the direction in which he was currently interested: a pair of sad eyes, warning him to stay away. He hadn't seen her since, despite all that time at the beach and he'd begun to think he'd been hallucinating the entire time. Maybe Astoria had slipped him something. Maybe he'd been in the sun too long. Maybe he was working too hard. Either way, it seemed far off and impossible now, that he'd seen a woman who looked just like Hermione Granger. And yet, for all his convincing himself he'd just had a temporary lapse in sanity, he hoped he'd see her again.

Of course, he'd no idea that his wish would be granted, but sure enough, as he walked out of the surf one day wiping his face and smoothing his hair back to a beachfront of admiring eyes, there she was. She didn't see him and he forced himself to keep moving up the beach, back to the chair he'd been occupying every day for the two weeks. He picked up his towel and started drying off, vigorously rubbing at his hair, his eyes flicking up every few seconds to where she was walking slowly along the line of the water.

His movements slowed as he watched her and he finally lowered the towel altogether. She looks worse, he thought. Why doesn't anyone else notice what is going on? Why are they blind to how thin she is, how defeated? He shook his head suddenly. No, he told himself. Maybe there's nothing wrong with her. Maybe you're comparing her to the witch you knew and that's why she looks smaller, haunted…confidence destroyed. Stay out of it, Draco, he told himself. She doesn't want your help anyway and besides, even if there were something the matter, what could you do?

Still, his eyes followed her and he felt the same indecision that had plagued him those last two years of the war. Should he, or shouldn't he. Will he, or won't he. Does he have the courage. Can he stand up for anything other than his own selfish needs…the list went on and on and Draco hated himself suddenly. Regardless of what anyone else on the beach saw, he knew there was something wrong. He could feel it and it was in danger of haunting him the same way everything else had if he didn't just bloody do something about it. And yet…would he be at all interested if she didn't have the face of a dead girl? Would he have the same urge to act if it were just an average Muggle standing there, looking forlorn and lost?

No, Draco, he told himself again. Start thinking that way and you'll go crazy. Don't overanalyze this. Just act now and think it out later because if you wait too long, it might be too late for that poor woman.

"Right then," he muttered to himself and, quickly slipping his sunglasses on, walked back down towards the water. He'd slung his towel over his shoulders and made a show of continuing to rub at his hair with it, as though he were merely taking a walk while drying himself off. He casually followed her footsteps and when his chance came, he took it. She'd just crouched down and was looking at something in the smooth, damp sand, gently brushing the sand away with one finger to pry it up. Draco saw what it was immediately: a shell. He watched her whole face change as she held it up, looking at its crenellations, admiring its sheen…and then her eyes widened and she dropped it suddenly with a small shriek. He took the opportunity to kneel beside her and scoop the tiny, disgruntled crab back out of the water where it was rolling this way and that, trying to find its footing.

"Careful, it's just a little guy," he informed her and then set the crab down on the sand where they both watched it gather itself and then scuttle away. Draco glanced back up at her to find her watching him instead of the crab and he grinned at her, hoping to put her at ease. "Trying to start a shell collection?" he asked her and she nearly responded, but stopped herself in time. He decided that would never do and immediately glanced down at the water, his eyes picking out a half shell. Plucking it from the sand, he brushed it off some and handed it to her. "There. Not as pretty as the last, but mercifully crab-free."

She didn't look at him, just caught the shell in her cupped hands as he dropped it and then sat there on her heels, staring at it. After a long moment in which he busied himself looking for more shells, she finally spoke.

"Don't," she said. He looked up at her curiously.

"No? Don't like that one? Let me find another…"

"Don't," she repeated and he looked at her again to find she was watching him now, that same warning in her eyes. "Don't do this," she went on and he narrowed his eyes, slowly lifting his shades to get a clearer look at her. He propped them in his hair.

"Do what?" he asked, challenging her, but she didn't look away, though her eyes widened some as if she were surprised at her own boldness.

"Don't be kind to me," she explained, her voice soft. She looked down then, back at the shell in her hands and her fingers curled over it possessively for a brief moment before she opened them again and quite deliberately dropped it back into the water. Then she stood up, as if to walk away.

Draco stood as well and stepped in front of her. She tensed and stared up at him again. He liked her eyes on him, he realized, and swallowed, his tongue thick in his mouth. He made a decision – he couldn't let her walk away, not like this, not upset and thinking all the wrong things. Not lonely. He didn't want her to feel lonely any longer. He wanted to be her friend, even if he was the only one in the world who saw her.

"I'm…Daniel," he said quietly. "Please, tell me your name."

Her brows drew together suddenly and her mouth puckered up, as if he'd said exactly the wrong thing, but he could see her emotional reaction wasn't brought on by his so-called kindness to her. It was something more, something disturbing and he had a flash of insight just before she looked away, uncertainty and confusion and terror spilling across her face.

"I can't," she breathed and just like that, the moment was over and she had a hold on her emotions once more. She looked to him and all he saw then was anger. "Get out of my way," she said and when he didn't move her voice rose nearly an octave and the tension in her shoulders broke, causing her to tremble. "Get out of my way!" she exclaimed, her hands lifting to push against him though she could have just as easily walked around him. "Please," she begged. "Please don't. Just…"

Her inability to just pick up and walk around him told him all he needed to know. She wanted help. She needed help. She just was terrified of the consequences. Or at least, he thought that was what it meant. He was about to put his hands on her shoulders, to tell her it was alright, when she tensed up again and her eyes went wide. Then she did push her way around him, though he could still see her shoulders trembling. He almost stopped her, except he felt the creeping sensation along the back of his neck that always signified he was being watched and he knew without a doubt that the man was somewhere behind him, watching their interplay.

Draco mustered up all the courage he had – he'd faced werewolves and madmen and murderous snakes. Surely he shouldn't be afraid of a simple bully, not when he was the one with a wand and a past deadlier than any Muggle could possibly imagine. It had taken years of living in shades of grey to make him realize that sometimes there was simply a right and a wrong and he felt it to his bones that this – whatever this was – was wrong. He'd regret it to the day he died if he didn't stick his nose in where the woman clearly thought it didn't belong.

He swiftly reached a hand back just as she passed him and caught her wrist – the same wrist he'd seen the man catch hold of so viciously weeks ago. He kept his hold on her firm, but gentle and used his voice to persuade her as she skidded to a halt just beside him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured to her, turning his head some, watching her with his peripheral vision. "Please, just tell me your name."

"Let go," she responded. He gave his head a small shake.

"Tell me."

She was still staring straight ahead, afraid to take her eyes off her companion, wherever he was, afraid that if she did there was no telling what might happen in those precious, lost seconds. Draco leaned towards her ever so slightly and slid his hold from her wrist down to her hand, where he slipped his fingers around hers and gave them a light squeeze.

"It's alright, I promise. Just exchanging names…like friends."

She didn't remove her hand from his, but she didn't look at him yet, either. Just a quiver in her voice told him he was winning her over.

"I can't," she repeated and he held her hand tighter. She let him, but it was a bittersweet victory.

"Why not?" he finally asked.

A second ticked by, then another, and another. The water crept up about their feet and swept away again. Then he felt it. Just a small squeeze back, but it was her and she'd responded to him. He started to turn, to look down at her, a smile on his face, when her words stopped him short.

"Because I don't know what it is," she whispered fiercely.

She'd looked straight on, unblinking, unflinching, the only sign of acknowledgment of his presence that gentle squeeze to his hand. Otherwise she might've been talking to herself, or thin air – which was rather what Draco felt like as he heard her confession. Then, as he tried to process what she'd said, she slipped her hand from his and walked away.

Draco let her go. He didn't know what else to do, not when faced with information like that. Of course, she might have been having him on in an attempt to get him to leave her alone, but…it didn't feel that way. No, she was serious when she said it and he believed her. More convinced than ever that he needed to help her, he came to himself and turned in time to see her walking up to the man.

He'd been right, the man was standing just yards away further up the beach, somewhat hidden by an umbrella. All Draco could see at first as the woman looked up at him was the man's body and he easily recognized its condition, the man's height. The man responded to something the woman said and all the tension returned to the woman's shoulders, but she didn't cry and the man didn't raise a hand to her. Draco let out the breath he'd been holding and continued to watch, hoping for a clear view of the man. He wondered idly how the man had seen them if his own view was blocked and then he realized what he was seeing. The man had stepped aside to take care of something – to gather up some bags or belongings. Any second now he would move back into view…and he did, and Draco felt all the blood drain from his face.

His lips moved without sound, forming the words, forming the name. Yaxley, he thought. _Yaxley_.

His heart felt like it might burst from his chest with its suddenly rapid, nervous beating.

The woman – no, not the woman any longer, _Hermione Granger_ – spoke to the man again and Yaxley lifted his head to look down the beach at him again. Draco's instincts kicked in just in time and he realized that Yaxley could only have seen his back. Before the man's eyes could find him, he quickly returned his sunglasses to his nose. He knew that with his tan and day old scruff he wouldn't be as recognizable, not to mention the glamour charm he used to hide his Mark. Still, the creeping feeling that prickled his skin as Yaxley's gaze found him and looked him over was, to say the least, unpleasant. He remembered the man. He was vile, disgusting, cruel…well, that described half the Death Eaters, actually. Well…more than half.

Yaxley hadn't mellowed with age, Draco discovered in the next second as the older man put on a bit of a show for what he clearly thought was just a foolish young man trying to rescue a damsel in distress.

The Death Eater brought one hand up under the woman's chin and then slowly lowered his lips to her face, kissing her cheek. When he drew back, he let his fingertips wander over her lips before he let her go and then, once he had their belongings in hand, slung an arm around her hunched shoulders and walked her away.

Draco watched them for as long as he could, disappearing down the crowded line of sand and surf, and then he turned and ran. He shed his towel and sunglasses behind him and he ran until he wasn't sure how far he'd come, until he could no longer recognize the front of buildings and boardwalks lining the dunes; and then, when he was quite sure he was alone, he staggered into the water, hunched over his knees, and was sick to his stomach.

He'd just discovered the mystery of Hermione Granger's disappearance, of her life so tragically cut short and all he could do when confronted with it was run away and retch.

Keep it together, Draco, he told himself. Where was his courage from minutes before, when he'd decided that some things were black and white, when he'd realized that the woman truly needed his help? The tide swirled about his legs and a sudden wave was enough to topple him backwards into the water. He came up sputtering and then gave a weak, angry cry and beat the water with his fists. It was Hermione, it had been Hermione the entire time. He'd been right and he'd ignored his instincts, had listened to Astoria, had convinced himself it wasn't true because he'd been afraid the entire time – afraid of the truth. Afraid to get involved if it had anything at all to do with his reality. When it had been a poor Muggle, it had been easier to deal with, but now…he beat the water again and gave another hoarse cry that turned into a sob.

How am I supposed to help her now, he thought. How am I supposed to even begin to help her?

But even as he questioned himself and cursed the situation, he knew in his heart that it didn't matter. Personal inconvenience aside, Hermione Granger didn't deserve whatever shell of a life Yaxley had her living and Draco knew he _would_ find a way to help her…even if it meant living in those shades of grey again. Another sob choked its way up his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut against the urge to cry like a little boy. Crying wouldn't do Hermione any good…or the woman she'd become, for that matter. His decision reached, he wiped his frustrated tears away with damp hands and brushed his hair from his face, sitting quietly in the water as the tide rose about him, buoying him back up the shore.

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><p><strong>AN: Before you start asking why doesn't he just go tell someone and get extra help from the Aurors or something, please be patient and wait for the next installment. Draco is not an idiot. I will address some of these issues. Other issues...will not be addressed because I need some kind of plot device in place to get these two together, don't I? ;)<strong>


	10. Chapter 9

**I don't own any of this, make no profit and all rights to JK and co.**

**AN:** _**SPOILERS!**_ **Seriously, skip ahead to the bold bit below if you don't want a film spoiler!** So, who's seen DH Part Deux? Me, me! Well, there were these two annoying girls behind me when I saw it that wouldn't SHUT UP and kept explaining the film to one another – _no you weren't actually being quiet you twats_ – so I'll have to see it again but that's beside the point. The point is that scene right before the final battle to end all battles. When all the students are lined up and Harry is 'dead' and Voldemort is all, hoohoohoo! Leave now and join me if you want to live! And whoever it is calls to Draco and he, oh, bless, he _hesitates_. That was such a beautiful moment for me and I wished so hard, in those brief seconds, that they'd rewrite that end and have him fight for the good side. I wished so hard! My wishing was for naught, of course, and it was a great scene nonetheless, but still…the look on his face and that precious hesitation…unf. I loved it so hard. I'm writing this story with that Draco, that look on his face, in mind. That painful choice he faced in both HBP and DH…I can't imagine a Draco who doesn't relive those moments every day of his life. Can you? I think his character must have gone on to live with regret for a very long time and Tom portrayed it all beautifully. Bravo, Tom!

**So I know this is mostly more exposition, but things will pick up quickly in the next chapter. Bear with me and thanks for your patience. :) Also, wow on the reactions to Yaxley - you guys remembered more about him straight off than I did! I had to go to my handy-dandy HP wiki to make sure I was making the right choice of Death Eater, there. But based on reactions alone, I was spot on. Thanks for being so vocal about it, you guys! I love to hear your thoughts.**

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><p>Two weeks.<p>

Two whole weeks of knowing that Hermione Granger was alive – clearly injured, but alive – and in the grasp of Yaxley, Merlin help them all, and no one would believe him. In light of that, it was really no wonder that Draco started losing sleep, but of course he could hardly confess to his associates what was going on. If not even the hypersensitive wizarding world was willing to look into it, he doubted any Muggle officers of the law would be much use. But oh, he'd certainly considered it – thought of walking into the nearest station with a picture of Hermione and informing them she'd been missing. But then anything he told them would be lies from beginning to end because one, he'd be forced to pretend that he was close to her in some way and two, he'd also have to tell them she'd only been missing a few days…not to mention the question of her nationality, her name, identification…

No, it was too messy, going the Muggle route – which he was saving for a last ditch effort anyhow. No, no, he'd done the sensible thing two weeks before and contacted his wizarding liaison as soon as he'd gotten back to his hotel. Then he'd donned fresh clothes and made his way to the Australian Ministry despite it being afterhours, where he'd demanded to speak with the Aurors immediately. He'd launched into his story, starting at the beginning, with his first sighting, and told it all, unwavering…and then he'd repeated himself ten times…then twenty, then twenty-five. But although not one word of his story had changed, although he knew that he was not only a reliable witness, he was an influential one, the Aurors put in charge of his case slowly began to stop listening.

When he'd pointed out that this was Hermione-bloody-Granger he was talking about and Death Eaters, for Merlin's sake, he'd earned pointed looks from the wizards doodling notes rather than taking them. They'd proceeded to irritate him by finishing one another's sentences with an ease born of the tedium of repetition.

"Mister Malfoy, while we understand your vehemence…"

"And your concern…"

"The fact of the matter is we get over fifty sightings of the infamous Hermione Granger…"

"Coming in from all over the country…"

"Nearly every day."

"Surely you can understand our hesitation over the matter?"

"We're stretched short as it is, what with…"

"The Death Eaters who've decided to treat Australia…"

"The way the Nazis treated South America."

"But that's what I'm saying!" Draco had shouted. "I saw Yaxley, too! He had her. He _has_ her! And you're not going to do anything about it?"

"Mister Malfoy, all we have is your written statement…"

"And without visual confirmation…"

"We just cannot take action at this point."

"You can have my memory!" he told them, standing, desperate to make them understand. "I've a good memory, you won't miss anything, it'll be clear as day –"

"I'm afraid we can't accept that…"

"As you know, no eyewitness is perfect."

The finishing one another's sentences thing was starting to grate on him, no doubt of it, but he managed not to punch them in their faces. After all, it told him they weren't lying and that dozens of reports on sightings really did cross their desks every day. But still, he had to keep trying…he made one last whining suggestion.

"So what if I come back here with visual proof? A picture, perhaps?" he asked, his voice wheedling, but hopeful.

The Aurors, clearly bored to tears by then, sighed and nodded and blessedly, just one answered him.

"That would be another story entirely, Mister Malfoy. Listen, we are sorry for these regulations, and we understand you are serious, but we simply can't take any chances. Our department is spread too thin as it is. Come back with proof, Mister Malfoy, and we'll talk."

Every minute since when he wasn't working had been devoted to combing the beaches, though he'd focused on the one where he'd seen them. The problem was that although he'd only seen them in one spot, he had no idea where they'd come from, or where they'd gone afterwards, or even if it was the only beach they frequented, since clearly he wasn't finding them…hence the additional beaches he'd lain upon, his new sunglasses spelled to magnify on command, a digital camera in his bag, waiting hopefully to be of use…waiting in vain.

With the close of the first week, however, his concern had grown past normal – whatever normal was in this situation. He'd even considered contacting the Ministry at home until, on his third visit to the Australian Aurors, they'd informed him that the British Ministry had passed even stricter regulations on sightings – in part due to the over-vigilance of Harry Potter himself. Not that the news made him feel any better. It just made him angrier, more frustrated as his visions of what was happening to her spiraled out of control. There was no telling where she was or what Yaxley was doing to her, not that the Death Eater hadn't given him a large hint the last time he'd seen them, but still. Draco suspected that sort of thing was far from the most devious torture the man could possibly dream up and it made him worry in earnest for her. Was she ok – as ok as one could be in those circumstances? Had his interference just made things worse? He knew that could happen in the most average of those situations, but this was Yaxley. Surely the man was capable of ten times worse than just run-of-the-mill domestic abuse. Not that any domestic abuse was run-of-the-mill…hell. Now he was thinking nonsense, thinking in circles. If only he knew when he'd see her next or had some clue as to how to find her. Instead all he had were three sightings spaced weeks apart…and then it struck him.

He was back in his room after another unsuccessful day of Hermione-spotting and even more unsuccessful inquiries at the Ministry and he stopped his pacing to rush over to his desk where he picked up his phone – the clever piece of Muggle technology he'd spelled to automatically record his day's activities…within reason, of course. He opened the calendar function and scrolled back through it, checking for his visits to the beach. Of course, he'd been so often now…but no, there were other benchmarks for those days, like the business lunch and then Astoria's last day. And the third sighting after that had been exactly two weeks after she'd left…two weeks. It all came down to that period of time. Every two weeks, like clockwork, Hermione was allowed to go to the beach with her captor.

Draco's face broke into a wild smile, hope rushing through him mercilessly. This meant that unless something terrible had happened he would see her in a week's time. It wasn't a guarantee, but it was something. And the minute he'd taken a few discreet photos and Owled them straight to the Ministry, Aurors would descend on the spot and that would be that. Not that dealing with Death Eaters was ever simple or easy, but he knew – he just _knew_ – that things were going to be alright. She'd be saved and he…hmm. Well, he supposed he'd be able to stop worrying about her and get back to work.

The relief that had suddenly spread through him slowly began to dissipate and Draco decided he'd better try and get some sleep while his shoulders were still relaxed enough to allow him to lie down. He'd sleep better than he had for days, but an uncomfortable feeling – what was he really doing, involving himself in all this – persisted. He even wondered, briefly, before he fell asleep, if he thought he felt something for her aside from sympathy.

No. Absolutely not. He was getting Hermione Granger, injured war hero, confused with the lonely Muggle he'd thought she was initially. There was nothing more to his actions than doing the right thing…no matter how much he liked to feel her eyes on him. Remembering the way that rich mix of hazel drank him in so solemnly, he closed his eyes and dreamed.

* * *

><p>That last week of waiting was torture. Well, comparatively. Draco sat through all his meetings, he led all his training sessions and appeared at all the appropriate events, but inside he was a wreck of nervous energy. He even took himself out for jogs in the early morning, just to try and drain off some of the stress of it all.<p>

It didn't help much and he ended up with a pulled hamstring for his efforts. Draco decided to give up jogging and stick to Quidditch – if only he could play while he was in Australia. But no, he was on a business exchange as a manager and Muggle-Wizard liaison masquerading as a full blown Muggle and by golly, he was expected to play his part. Never mind that thinking of Quidditch was merely meant to distract him from thinking about Granger – which also didn't last long since clearly, that's what he was thinking about _again_.

I need a hobby, he thought morosely as he packed up his things and turned off the alerts on his phone, finally free from his obligations for the next thirty hours or so. He'd deliberately worked it out so that he could have off the day that Yaxley and his captive were due at the beach. An extra meeting over coffee here, an additional training session there and his schedule was free and clear. In just a few hours the sun would be coming up over the horizon and he'd be sprawled on the beach – despite the early signs of Fall in the air – ready to take photos and kick some arse. Or something like that…in fact, he hoped that was how things would go, but knowing his luck – he had stumbled onto the missing war hero in the first place after all and that was hardly what a former Death Eater would call _lucky_ – he would bungle it without meaning to and things would go downhill from there. For all he knew, he could end up in Yaxley's grip as well and then where would Hermione be? Up a creek, was where.

Draco sighed and raked a hand through his hair as he got ready for bed. In the darkness, the light from his digital clock seemed too bright, but he didn't dare unplug it. He needed to be up and at the beach early the next day. He couldn't risk missing them, not when it took two weeks to get a look at them and his exchange was winding down. He was already a month and a half into it and that meant, if the Aurors weren't going to take action on their own, that Hermione Granger's chances – her _time_ – were running out.

He wondered, not for the first time, what would happen if he just Owled Potter directly. Would the man believe him? Would he drop everything to follow a lead given him by a Malfoy? They certainly didn't hate one another with the vigor they once had…if they even hated one another at all. And Granger…her case had been Potter's whole life for a long time, there. Draco could remember well all the headlines, all the inquiries – even he and his family had been brought in for questioning. Finding her parents, their highly publicized funeral, paid for by Weasley…it was all so present, so easy to still picture. Things had died down somewhat in the last two years, of course. People had gotten tired of talking about, of thinking about such a tragedy and Draco knew that most had begun to think as Astoria did. Hermione Granger was assumed dead, no matter how often Potter insisted he saw her. It was all rather pathetic…or Draco had thought so until he'd seen her, himself. And just like that she'd become his whole world, too.

Draco empathized with Potter for possibly the first time in his life, but it didn't change the fact that in all likelihood, Potter would have him brought up on charges of aggravation if Draco went to him claiming to have seen Hermione. No, the man would never believe him, not without visual proof – same as the Australians. So Draco was back to square one, lying in bed, wide awake, waiting for the sun to rise on his appointment with what would most likely be the biggest mistake of his life if it didn't end well. As he'd expected, sleep never came.

* * *

><p>An entire day at the beach…it was the most dreadful experience and Draco thought he understood why the parents he saw dragging their children away were so grouchy. Nothing but shouting and avoiding sand that was kicked everywhere and reapplying sunblock every hour. It was excruciating. He'd had a nice time before, when he'd spared an hour here and there, but after an entire two weeks on pins and needles and extended searching hours he was sick of the place.<p>

And then she was there again and a fleeting thought crossed his mind as he slowly sat up from his chair, watching her as she stood at the edge of the water, the waves lapping at her feet and ankles. He thought, if I could see her smile again, like she did when she helped that child build his sandcastle, or when she first held up that shell, then I'd gladly come to the beach every day for the rest of my life. It was a foolish thought, but it was real and his mouth went dry at the force of its feeling. Yes, he empathized with Potter – but only because she was so pathetic. He only felt sorry for, he was only doing what was right – he was doing it for himself, really. Not for her. She wasn't the driving force behind his actions those last two weeks.

She wasn't.

He continued to stare at her from yards away behind the protection of his sunglasses, underneath his umbrella and she continued to stand there, looking out over the vast ocean as if she was searching the horizon for something. What was it that held her attention, he wondered. Was she looking for help? Or for answers, perhaps? He caught his breath as she turned her head slightly to look at her captor, but Draco couldn't tear his eyes from her. He knew Yaxley was there as he must always be, but he didn't care in that moment. What he cared about was the lost look on her face, the bitterness that swept over it as she observed her companion…and the wistfulness as she looked out over the water again. She knows she's waiting for someone, Draco thought. She just doesn't know who, or what.

Something inside him clenched painfully. He knew that feeling. Who hadn't, after the war had ended? Everyone was searching for something, waiting for life to return, hoping for what had once been normal. Draco shook himself and realized he had yet to take any photos. Hell, he'd let himself be distracted. He reached into his bag quickly for his camera and drew it out to begin snapping photos quickly. It wasn't a wizarding camera, but it would have to do. After he'd taken about ten shots, Draco lowered the camera in order to go through the pictures and make sure they were adequate.

He nearly dropped the device.

Hermione wasn't in any of the pictures and yet he knew she'd been in the frame when he'd taken them. He heard his blood rush in his ears and tried to calm himself. It was possible it was just a mistake, after all – Muggle technology wasn't perfect. Looking back up he saw she hadn't moved and he took several more pictures before reevaluating them. Same result. Damn. Bloody hell. Yaxley had some sort of spell on her, something that would keep her from being photographed or filmed, more than likely – a charm, perhaps. Draco swore aloud and then dropped the now useless camera back into his bag. Well. That sent his plans all to hell.

Time to make another decision, Draco, he told himself. Right or wrong? Black or white? He dug his fingers into his hair and gave a frustrated growl before looking back up. Hermione had moved down the beach a little ways and he could see Yaxley following her at a far more leisurely pace, the look on his face smug, confident. He had her completely in his grasp and he was certain no one would ever take her away, except in a body bag. It was a familiar look, one that caused Draco to ball his hands into fists and he knew in an instant his choice had already been made. He was going to do his damnedest to save her and to hell with the price, because Yaxley was never going to control someone's life that way again, not if he could help it.

With one more glance at Hermione's retreating figure, Draco stood up. Then he drew off his shades, tossed them onto his chair, and headed down the beach towards the water, as if he was going for a swim...except instead of the surf, he walked right into Yaxley's path.


	11. Chapter 10

**I don't own this, I make no money off it, all rights to JK and co. I would say I own the plot, at the very least, but it's probs been done already, too. XD**

**AN: So now things pick up a little. I hope you like this chapter! I worked very hard on it. I even made a fanmix for the story just to help me write it! All for yooooou, my loyal readers! All for you. ;)**

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><p>Taking a deep, steeling breath, Draco made sure to barrel right into Yaxley and he did it with panache, if he did say so, himself. The right amount of force caused them to go sprawling in the sand and surf and Draco put on the show of his life, coming up sputtering and wiping his face – all apologies and grimaces and even going so far as to put a hand out as he staggered to his feet, intent on helping Yaxley up.<p>

"My apologies," he said. "Been at the beach all day, I'm afraid, bit of sunstroke, but there it is. Please, let me help you, I really can't apologize enough…"

Yaxley growled and shook his hand off, getting up and brushing himself off only to look around Draco immediately, trying to spot Hermione. His expression changed, relaxed and a moment later he refocused on the face of the man before him. His eyes widened. Draco also pretended to take a closer look and pasted a look of first revulsion, then false confidence on his face. After all, it was his natural reaction to the man so he hoped it would be believable enough.

"You…" Yaxley began and then stopped himself.

"Wait, you're the one? With her, I mean," Draco muttered quickly and a knowing smile spread across Yaxley's face.

Yaxley ignored Draco's remark and its implications. "I see why she's been so unsettled these last few visits. So that's why you were interested." He paused, as if sizing up Draco. "You've changed, Malfoy. Grown up, have you? If I'd know it was you the other week…"

"What, you would've invited me for dinner?" Draco said snidely, playing the part he'd perfected in school: the snotty prat who didn't know real life from Merlin, who was so terrorized there at the end he could only walk away and pray it had all been a dream.

Yaxley's smile narrowed, became something Draco still wasn't sure he recognized, even after living with it for so long.

"Why don't you?" he asked and Draco thought, I'm going to die. He knows this isn't who I am and knows I plan to try and save her and he's inviting me to dinner so he can kill me.

Instead of collapsing then and there or running away like his legs suddenly urged him to, Draco let a smirk slide over his lips and forced himself to clap a hand on Yaxley's shoulder, though it was clear the other man would rather Draco never touched him again. Well, that's alright, Draco thought. He'll never have to worry about me touching him again as I'll be dead by tonight, obviously.

Aloud he said, "Yaxley, old friend! I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

><p>Yaxley insisted Draco give him the address of the hotel at which he was staying for security purposes, of course – by which he meant that if Draco tried to tell anyone or run away then Yaxley could hunt him down and kill him – and Draco agreed. Then Yaxley gave him the address of what Draco assumed was merely a point of contact and a time and then he and his…ward…were headed away, down the beach once more. Draco watched them go, knowing that all had gone as planned, at least from his point of view, though it was moving much more quickly than he'd anticipated…and inasmuch as he had a plan at all. It had been less a thing of plan B and more a thing of, hell, do something, <em>anything<em>. But regardless, it was good Yaxley had played right along…or he tried to tell himself that. At best it meant he'd be able to rescue Hermione that much more quickly; and maybe once he was closer to her he'd be able to remove whatever enchantments Yaxley had upon her in order to get his proof and summon the Aurors. At worst…they'd both be dead and then the sad case of Hermione Granger would only be at the point everyone already thought it was.

Draco rushed to get back to his hotel and clean himself up. He even went so far as to remove the glamour hiding his mark, though he wore a long-sleeved shirt anyhow. Standing before the mirror in his bathroom, watching his reflection closely, he decided he looked older. He was only, what, twenty-four? Hell, he couldn't even remember how old he was. He gave a hoarse laugh and reached out, placing a hand on the mirror's reflection and wished he could talk to himself – really talk. Step outside of himself and ask himself what the hell was the matter with him, when he'd gone mental.

Black or white, Draco, he thought and his eyes narrowed as he looked at himself. Then he turned and left his suite, pausing only to slip his phone – which mercifully had a camera of its own – and his wand into his pockets. He looked every inch the young, spoiled mogul that he was, dressed down in freshly pressed khakis, his linen shirt and deep tan. He'd actually bothered to shave and his short, white-blonde hair was fashionably mussed. His shoes were sensible, but clearly handcrafted from Italian leather. His posture was straight, yet his shoulders relaxed in the manner of the very wealthy and self-assured, and the aloof set of his brow warned off anyone even remotely interested in striking up a conversation as he picked up wayward stares and glances on his way out of the hotel.

It been almost too easy to slip back into his old skin and the only thing that might have betrayed the terror he felt beating out a steady rhythm high in his neck was the fine sheen of sweat along his cheeks and upper lip – the kind of sweat clearly not born from the cool evening air. The seasons were beginning to change in the land down under, after all and Autumn was swiftly coming on, though the Summer heat lingered during the daylight hours.

Draco decided to take his company car to the rendezvous point. It was a luxury he normally reserved for business purposes only, unlike some of the men and women he worked with, but it was the only insurance he could provide for himself before embarking on his rescue mission. He hadn't even dared call or text someone as innocuous as Astoria because he was so afraid something would go wrong – that Yaxley would be able to tell, just from looking at him. Which, to be fair, wasn't so far off the mark.

He took a moment – only a moment – to steel himself for whatever awaited him once he left his vehicle and then he unfolded his tall frame from the two door sedan and locked it after himself. He stood looking down the dune at the beachfront cottage he'd been given directions to and seconds after he'd arrived the backdoor opened and a figure from below waved up at him. He took a deep breath and started down the stairs to the lonesome bungalow, content that if this was the end, at least he'd finally made a firm choice for once in his life. He could face whatever happened next with the courage born of blind bravery.

He and Potter had more in common than an extended sympathy for Granger, it seemed.

The thought would have made him laugh, except the minute his foot hit the cement block that served as a back porch he felt himself being pulled forward by his stomach and his thoughts swiftly turned from Potter and Granger to panic at having knowingly entered directly into a trap. So much for blind bravery.

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><p>Draco hit the floor at what felt like light speed and rolled several times before coming to a stop – and even then only because he'd come against a wall. He lay there for a moment, gathering his breath and his bearings and then he warily sat up, rubbing fiercely at the shoulder he'd landed upon. It wasn't dislocated, that was good. He drew his knees up and continued to inspect himself – logic told him that if he wasn't in one piece he wouldn't be any good to Hermione. No broken bones, no dislocated joints…he dared breathe a quiet sigh of relief and stood up. Only then did he take stock of where the back porch Portkey had deposited him.<p>

"Clever, isn't it?"

Yaxley's voice behind him caused Draco to turn around more quickly than he'd meant to and he noted the look of satisfaction that passed over the other man's face. Damn it all, now the bastard knew how nervous he was…though to be fair, Yaxley probably just assumed he made everyone nervous. Draco forced himself to relax outwardly and shoved his hands in his pockets, taking a more leisurely look about himself.

"Portkey?" he asked casually even as he inspected a painting on one of the shabbily wallpapered walls and he heard Yaxley's smile in his voice.

"Hardly. That would be too simple. Illusion spells to draw the guest in. The paper I gave you with the address serves as an identifying marker to the spell. Follow that with a transportation spell when the guest reaches a certain point within the wards. In normal circumstances a spell like that one would be used to deliver an unwanted visitor elsewhere, but in this case the elsewhere is here as long as you have that piece of paper. We merely assume anyone who makes it that far deserves the visit."

"We?" Draco worked hard to keep the curiosity from his voice, to keep his posture nonchalant – but not too bored, or else Yaxley would know he was trying too hard.

Yaxley snorted. "As much as Amycus constitutes a 'we'."

Draco heard Yaxley approach him as he continued to look around the room in which he'd landed and he turned his head slightly.

"Nice artwork," he murmured. "What is this one, Corot?"

"You always did have an eye for the finer things, Draco. But then, your parents spoiled you." Yaxley eyed him and Draco could feel the way they looked him up and down, measuring him, seeing only the boy who'd defected, who'd failed to defend his Dark Lord and Draco knew it was a miracle Yaxley hadn't killed him on the spot. The Death Eater sighed heavily, as if entertaining a Malfoy was torture to his poor, pureblooded, doomed soul. "Come on then," he went on. "Go ahead and ask me what you really want to know."

"I thought we'd save that for dessert," Draco replied softly, finally turning to face Yaxley head on. The older man gazed at him impassively a moment, then smiled again.

"Whatever you want, Draco. Now or later, I'm not fussed. She won't know the difference anyhow." Yaxley turned to leave the parlor – at least, Draco assumed it was a parlor. He waited until Yaxley was nearly at the door before he called out.

"I'm sorry, you think I want her?"

Yaxley turned back around slowly. His craggy face was etched with age and evil and though Draco supposed it was distinguished enough if looked at under the right light, he figured there wasn't nearly enough light in the world to make Yaxley look appealing to anyone, let alone a witch like Hermione Granger – amnesiac or not.

"I saw the way you looked at her the other week, Malfoy." It was a statement, a challenge and Draco lifted his chin slightly. He had to play his part. If he showed even an ounce of feeling for Granger aside from schoolboy derision and curiosity they would both be dead. He felt that as certainly as he felt Voldemort was really and truly dead…and yet Voldemort lived on, when evil men like Yaxley continued to work their will upon the world.

Draco shrugged. "I thought she was a Muggle," he said honestly. "You have to admit, a Muggle doppelganger of Granger…it would be enough to tempt Potter."

Yaxley snorted again and Draco wondered if the man had a breathing problem. "So you expect me to believe you thought she was a Muggle and decided she'd make an interesting conquest because you always wanted to scratch that particular itch?"

"Why not believe me? Clearly you felt the same way."

"Except I know exactly who she is," Yaxley replied, but he didn't deny the implication that he was, indeed, having his way with Hermione. The thought made Draco ill, but he forced himself to respond in a normal tone, even managing to sound a bit bored with the conversation.

"And she doesn't. Isn't that the same as shagging a Muggle lookalike?"

Yaxley stared at Draco wide-eyed for a long second, then threw his head back and laughed. "You've gotten mercenary – bloody too late, mind," he remarked, looking at Draco thoughtfully and Draco shrugged again. He turned back to the paintings.

"Not so," he denied. "Just mellowed a bit. Who is that, Gauguin?"

Yaxley muttered something Draco didn't quite catch and turned to leave the room again.

"Tell me when dinner is ready," Draco called after him. A haunting laugh was his only reply. He kept his hands in his pockets and curled his fingers about his wand. How easy it would be to draw the wand, wave it and waste the scum where he stood…but for Hermione's sake and his he needed to keep his head. First he would milk the evening for all it was worth, draw every last breath of the story from Yaxley that he could. Then, when he'd had enough time to evaluate the situation…then he would break them both free. He squeezed his wand between his fingers one last time and then drew his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms.

Draco continued to walk slowly around the parlor, investigating every inch of the space under the guise of admiring the poorly kept artwork. Originals, he'd wager, and never seen a day of restoration or climate control. He wondered where the hell the house was hidden away and was just in the middle of ruminating over that disturbing uncertainty when he felt a creeping sensation along the back of neck. Yaxley, he thought, panic rising in his chest again, or even Carrow. They've decided not to play along and are going to murder me where I stand…he forced himself to turn around and meet the gaze of whomever it was. His mouth went dry. IT was doing that an awful lot lately, in fact. He wondered if he had a condition – but if he did, what a condition to have. Unfortunate especially, that there wasn't a cure for it.

From across the room, Hermione Granger's eyes – no, the eyes of a stranger, really – watched him carefully. She'd snuck into the room and was leaning back against the wall opposite him, her arms tucked behind her demurely, her gaze almost shy. No, that was wrong. It only looked that way at first because of her body language, but he could see now her eyes were flashing the same warning they had at that second meeting. She looked like she wanted very much to say something to him and he lowered his arms, tucked his hands back into his pockets, and waited for her to speak, to direct him. How did she want things to go? It's your choice, his own, direct gaze told her and she glanced away and bit her lower lip hard, as if to keep from saying anything at all.

Swallowing thickly, Draco decided he'd better take a chance while he still could, while he was still breathing by the grace of a madman.

"We meet again," he called to her, his tone light, teasing. She looked back at him sharply and for a moment they were suspended there, a smile about to grace his lips, but arrested by the anger on her face and then life came back into the picture and she was moving, pushing off from the wall and headed right for him. He watched her come at him, his eyes wide with surprise and she stopped just short of him, glaring up at him hatefully.

"You think you're the first?" she hissed and anguish suddenly crossed her face, completely erasing the sting of her anger as Draco realized what was wrong. He wondered if he dared touch her, take her by the shoulders, try to comfort her, but a second later she was spinning away from him and back to the door.

"What happened?" he asked, raising his voice slightly. She stopped and he could see her shoulders shaking, as though she were crying.

He was at her side before he realized he was walking and he hesitated only a moment before raising a hand and settling it on her shoulder.

"You can't help," she told him and then repeated herself, as if it the words were a mantra she'd learned to tell herself to somehow make her suffering more bearable.

"Maybe not," he admitted finally and she looked back up at him, tears slipping down her cheeks. Through the glassy gaze her eyes still warned him. He discovered he didn't particularly want to listen.

"I intend to take you away," he told her suddenly, in a fit of confidence that he knew was sheer stupidity the second the words passed his lips.

"You're a fool," she told him. "I don't want your help. I don't –"

"If you try to tell me that you don't need help, I will kill you myself, you idiot," Draco informed her and she shut up. He took his hand off her shoulder. "Get out of here. I might not know what I'm doing, but I know enough that you and I shouldn't be seen together like this." He gave a short nod to the door and the woman who'd been Hermione hesitated.

"Go!" he muttered and she cast one last furtive glance at him before dashing out the door. Draco heard voices in the hallway a moment later and knew she'd bumped into someone, but he also knew that he could sham having made a pass at her or otherwise to have gotten her upset. With a sigh, he ran a hand over his hair – the same hand that had rested on her shoulder seconds ago, providing so little comfort.

It was going to be a long night.

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><p><strong>AN: Woohoo! Drama, I live for the drama!<strong>


	12. Chapter 11

**Don't own it, make no money, all rights to JK and co.**

**AN: Just a little explanation to y'all...I know you like my swift updating here, but please know that I write and post and edit while I write. I'm not a write ahead sort of gal, generally and so what you see is what you get and it is hot off the press. So if posting ever does drop off, it's not cause I'm trying to be mean on purpose and withhold chapters, it's merely because the other chapters just aren't written yet. Just a little bit about my writing style here. Thought you'd appreciate knowing it! **

**So, moving on. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Oh, and did I tell you? I'm infamous for cliffhangers. Apologies in advance.**

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><p>If Draco could've done without seeing Yaxley again, the feeling was doubled when Amycus Carrow walked into the dining room. Amycus and his sister had been far from the most terrifying Death Eaters with which he'd kept company, but neither were they his favorites. They were cruel in a crude manner, always searching for the most expedient, most vicious route to cause another person pain and Draco had witnessed firsthand their knowledge of Dark spells – he'd even been forced to sit under their tutelage when Voldemort didn't feel much like teaching.<p>

Yaxley's involvement in Hermione's disappearance was a little more complicated to sort out, but the Carrows' taking part was easy to understand – they wanted to see someone suffer, and for a long period of time. That was enough for them, Draco would wager. He set his fork down.

"You didn't like the main course?" he asked Amycus, smirking impertinently to the best of his ability. Yaxley shot him a glance and then looked over at the other Death Eater who'd just sat down to a plate of dessert. True to form, Yaxley had saved any of the difficult conversation for after the main meal was over, but more surprisingly, none of the food had been poisoned. Unless it was meant to be slow-acting, in which case Draco was screwed.

Yaxley addressed Draco's question, as Amycus merely grunted and settled into his cobbler.

"Amycus takes dinner elsewhere," he explained. "It's unfortunate, but after the war it became evident he'd been infected by Greyback and since I won't allow him to devour raw meat at my dinner table…"

Draco went white beneath his tan and he focused his efforts on his dessert. "Did he? Well, that's a shame, Carrow. And your sister? How did she feel about that?"

Amycus ignored Draco's question, though he gripped his fork a bit tighter. Yaxley cast a glance between them and sat back in his seat, pushing his plate away.

"Alecto is dead," he said.

Draco nearly laughed, but something in Yaxley's face held him in check. Probably the murderous rage he saw reflected in Amycus' eyes as the two men exchanged a glance. The first part of the puzzle clicked into place for Draco.

"Granger killed her?" he asked, looking between both men. He raised his brows. "You're kidding."

"Amycus no longer jokes…about anything, Draco, and neither do I. Now, why don't we discuss why you're here."

"I'm leaving," Amycus said, standing up abruptly. Draco started to stand as well and Yaxley merely waved a hand, telling him to stay put.

"Don't bother," he said as the other Death Eater left. "Amycus keeps to himself and we both prefer it that way."

Draco looked back at Yaxley once Carrow had left the room. "But…a werewolf? And that doesn't bother you?"

"He serves a purpose, Draco. Besides, once Alecto was gone he was much easier to control."

Something about the way Yaxley said the last word caused a shiver to run up Draco's spine. He looked back down at his dessert and decided he was finished as well.

"What happened?" he asked quietly, unable to fake his disinterest any longer. After all, though being a Death Eater was no longer a part of his life and he'd changed – grown compassion and kindness – those people had featured in a large part of his childhood. He'd known them, been taught by them, broken bread with them…they'd been a sick, twisted fantasy of a family in a way and it was more absurd that he wouldn't hold any curiosity for them at all.

Yaxley leaned his head back against his chair and considered Draco's question fairly.

"An unfortunate series of events," he murmured. A smile spread across his lips. "Circumstances beyond anyone's control…perhaps even fate."

Draco forced himself to look up at the man. Yaxley was withdrawn, lost in his memories. Draco was about to prompt him when he spoke again. He hadn't forgotten Draco's question, he'd merely been thinking. Draco waited patiently as the tale unfolded, the only sign of his discomfort in the way his hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly.

"We ran into each other by sheer coincidence. You know about our escape, I expect. People were too busy grieving to notice when their protective charms wore off in the hours after the battle. Their foolish mistake, but a great many of us escaped in that manner. I don't know why they came to Australia. I was in New Zealand already and if I hadn't come across the Grangers…" He chuckled darkly and Draco suppressed a shudder.

"Her parents, then, you found them? Had you gone hunting them?"

Yaxley smirked and it devolved into a sneer. "No, had no use for them at that point, had I? Though it always stuck in my craw, the way she'd secreted them. A mudblood like her, outsmarting us…" He shook himself. "No, finding them was sheer luck. Imagine my surprise when they introduced themselves as the Wilkins. I realized what she'd done immediately, of course, and that bit of news about made my year."

"Why's that?" Draco asked, feigning amusement. Yaxley's eyes narrowed and his sneer deepened.

"Because it was obvious that she hadn't come back for them yet. They hadn't their memories of her, had they? It wasn't a stretch to know that she'd be back for them sooner or later and then…well, let's just say she wouldn't escape me a third time. I was going to see to that – I knew she couldn't always be quick enough."

"Their bodies were found just a week after she went missing, in the same hotel they'd booked for their holiday," Draco said, unsure if Yaxley had kept up to date on all the news and interest surrounding the case. "They'd been…tortured. You, I assume? When did you run across the Carrows?"

"Amycus and Alecto I met while stocking up my supplies. They were on the run, same as me. Seemed to think they could intimidate me into allowing them to stay with me, as though I owed them, the bloody imbeciles. Alecto was always the brains and the guts of those two and I'd have killed her sooner or later, myself, but I saw that in his state, Amycus could be useful. And of course once they found out that I had the mudblood's parents, well. We reached a mutually beneficial agreement."

"And you tortured them for information on Granger?"

"And because it was fun," Yaxley replied, a corner of his mouth quirking up. Draco thought he might lose his dinner. The evil curve deepened. "And because it would hurt her more, seeing them suffer for her sake. Poor little mudblood."

Draco closed his eyes briefly against the feeling that, yes, she would have suffered deep wounds from that knowledge…wounds that would likely never heal. He wondered if it was kinder to leave her in the dark, if there was some knowledge it was better to never possess, even if it left one a shell of one's former self.

When his eyes fluttered open not a second later, he found Yaxley watching him closely. He pressed ahead.

"What happened?" he asked again, though he was no longer sure he wanted to know. Yaxley pursed his lips, frowning, and steepled his fingers. He gazed off across the table, towards the darkened fireplace at one end of the room.

"What happened?" he mused aloud. "I imagine that's a question she'll be asking herself for a very long time." He chuckled again and when his laughter died away he looked back at Draco. "We found their house and we waited. A particularly perceptive neighbor stuck her nose where it didn't belong. We battled…briefly. Once she knew we had her parents, though, she didn't struggle. She was quite agreeable after that."

"Was she?" Draco asked, his voice just above a whisper. He was feeling sick again. He couldn't do this – he wasn't built for rescuing people, for playing the dashing hero. He was much better at running away.

"Oh, yes," Yaxley breathed, remembering those early days of torture and screams and finally submission. Draco swallowed hard against the urge to vomit.

"And after that?" he finally managed to ask. "How did she get this way?"

Yaxley leaned his head back again and rubbed his jaw as he thought. "Well, she wasn't as dispirited as we'd assumed. Turned out she had a fair amount more fight in her. She's smart for all her unfortunate pedigree, I'll grant her that much."

"She was playing along, then."

"You might say that. Managed to get her hands on Alecto's wand one night, just days after we'd taken he, but the wand didn't like her very much, I'm afraid. She tried to reverse her memory charms on her mother and they…backfired. She managed to kill Alecto before she lost her mind to the rebounding spells, but to be honest I think it was an accident. As I said, the wand didn't appreciate its new wielder."

"You don't think she would've killed for her parents?"

"She's a mudblood," Yaxley said, as if that explained everything. At Draco's confusion, he leaned forward and spoke slowly. "After we proved our point don't you think she would've been smart enough to realize all her parents gave her was a tainted family tree? No, it was pure selfishness that drove her actions that night. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if she'd been trying to kill her mother instead."

My god, Draco thought. There's not a single strand of real reason running through this man. He's as mad as Bellatrix.

Draco tried very hard to push past his revulsion, tried to sort it all out in the cloud of fear that had invaded his mind. "And after, did you…that's when you killed her parents…in retaliation for Alecto."

"In retaliation? Yes, I suppose Amycus would see it that way. But nothing so noble, Draco. No, I killed her parents because there wasn't a point in keeping them alive after that."

"And is there a point in keeping her alive?" Draco asked, raising a brow. Yaxley shrugged and stood up.

"Why don't I introduce you formally and you can find out for yourself."

Draco gave a start as Yaxley gave a sharp yell.

"Girl!" he called and Draco stood as well. He forced himself to stay calm, but panic bubbled away in his chest anyway. He wasn't ready to come face to face with her again, not with Yaxley around. Not when he hadn't even had a chance to explain himself to her. He knew instinctively that she wouldn't handle it well, that she wouldn't understand. She thought he was just some goodhearted, foolish man trying to save a woman in trouble. She didn't know he was one of them – she'd feel betrayed, hurt.

Draco tried to stop Yaxley. "That's really not…necessary…" He protested, but his voice trailed off as quick footsteps sounded down the hall outside. A heavier tread followed and Draco knew that Amycus must have been pushing her along, forcing her to come join their sick little party. Something deep inside him ached and he could feel that something pounding through him, along every limb, filling him with the will to take control, to act for once in his life. Black or white.

The woman who'd been Hermione Granger stumbled into the room and immediately looked up at Draco, but her eyes slid away as quickly to find Yaxley, who was looking smug.

"Well, pet. I thought I'd introduce you to your latest admirer. I thought he'd like to know you a little better, since you've been leading him on these last few weeks."

Her face changed and she immediately moved towards Yaxley, hands clasped as she pled with him silently. It was clearly a line that she was familiar with and Draco knew she'd meant it earlier, when she'd asked him if he'd genuinely thought he was the first idiot to try and rescue her. He wondered if the families of all those other idiots – Muggles, like as not – knew what had happened to their beloved sons and daughters.

She found her voice when Yaxley merely continued to stand there smugly.

"Please, I didn't do anything. I told him to leave us alone. Please."

"But haven't you learned by now that a line like that was only going to interest him more?"

"He doesn't mean it," she said quickly, daring to glance at Draco. She looked back at Yaxley. "He's only having a bit of fun. He's bored. Please, let it go."

A sly look crept across Yaxley's face and he rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, toying with them all.

"Don't you think, if he's bored, that we ought to entertain him?" he asked.

Draco looked to her then, knowing that in the next few seconds things were all going to go terribly wrong, though he couldn't begin to fathom how it would happen. All he knew was that Yaxley had been playing with him, with them, this entire time and that there had to be something else going on that was keeping him so confident – something tangible, beyond the fact that his clear obsession with Granger would give him the strength to do whatever was necessary to keep her in his grasp. Draco knew he should have seen it sooner, should have figured it out, that Yaxley was just a madman with an obsession, as Voldemort had trained all his Death Eaters. It could have been any Muggleborn witch, he thought. Hermione was just unlucky enough to piss him off enough.

Draco forced himself to refocus on them, to fight back the rising tide of panic and self-hatred for his own stupidity. Hermione was looking pale and mumbling her words in response to Yaxley's clear innuendo.

"I…don't…"

"You know exactly what I mean, pet. Oh, you're right that I've never meant it before, but you see, this is a special case as this young man here happens to be an old friend."

Draco watched the cogs turn on that face so open to interpretation, though the mind behind it was locked tight. He tried his best to hold her gaze and communicate silently, to reassure her, but she took one look at him and was gone, out of his reach.

"You're…with him. But you said…"

Yaxley's brows lifted with curiosity. "Did he say something to you?"

She didn't respond to Yaxley directly, she was so lost in her own web of confusion and anger, but the words spilled from her mouth anyway, damning Draco.

"How were you going to take me away?" she hissed, her voice accusatory. "Even if you could, you didn't think I'd go with you, did you? I have to stay here! If I leave, he'll…"

Draco was drawn in before he could stop himself. "He'll what?"

"I'll kill them," Yaxley supplied smoothly. Draco jerked his head up to stare at the other man. What was his game? Who would he kill and why was it enough to keep Hermione there?

"What are you on about?" he asked harshly and Yaxley smirked.

"Does it really matter? Knowing all my secrets won't change the fact that she knows if she leaves, she'll lose any chance at regaining her life, at knowing exactly who she is."

"Is that all that's keeping her here? I can solve that easily enough. Aren't you afraid, Yaxley? Afraid that I'll just tell her everything, right here and now?"

Yaxley laughed. "You think it's that easy?" His face grew grim and he started around the table towards Draco. "You think you can just tell her and she'll be alright? Don't be an idiot."

Draco glanced at her, saw her terrified face, and then looked back to Yaxley, who was still walking towards him. Draco tried to back away, tried to slip his hand in his wand pocket, but Yaxley reached out and grabbed his arm before he could move. For a second Draco was certain that Yaxley was going to take his wand away – snap it, perhaps, but Yaxley ignored his pockets entirely and instead his grip on Draco's arm tightened.

"Let me show you what the truth does, boy," he growled and there was a gleam in his eye as he pulled Draco's arm forward…and then ripped the sleeve from shoulder to wrist, laying it open to his bare skin. He tugged harder, ignoring Draco's sudden protests, and twisted the arm about – and Draco realized what he meant to do. He looked to Hermione, unable to tear his eyes away from her even as she stared in horror at him. No, not at him, exactly…at his Dark Mark, which lay exposed to the world once more on the soft underside of his tanned arm.

A soft keening noise began to issue from her throat and it rose rapidly in volume until she was screaming and she stumbled away from them blindly, caught in some horrible memory as she was. She slammed into a wall and turned to scrabble at it, as if she could climb from the room if she only tore at the wallpaper enough. She was still screaming, though it was soon interspersed with gasping, panicked sobs.

The something in Draco that ached grew more insistent.

Oh, Hermione, he thought. What happened to you? What happened here? Somewhere outside himself he could hear Yaxley laughing again – laughing at him this time, not at the pathetic spectacle that she was making of herself. Laughing because it must have been obvious on his face how heartbreaking he found the sight of her just then.

"You see, Draco? One mention of it all and she has a fit – goes into such a state she's useless for days."

"You're still using her parents," Draco ground out. "That's what she meant. She thinks they're still alive, and that if she leaves you'll kill them and then she'll never know who she is. Clever," he spat.

"Don't act so sainted, Draco. And that's roughly the story, but why don't you tell me now why you care so much."

Yaxley jerked on his arm hard before letting him go. He glared at Amycus, who'd begun to move towards Hermione, no doubt in order to straighten her out.

"Leave her be!" he ordered and turned back to Draco. "So, you want in?" he asked and Draco stared at him in horror. Yaxley chuckled again. "Either you're in or we kill you. That's rather clever of me too, isn't it?"

Draco swallowed hard and flicked his eyes back to Hermione's still crying, screaming figure that was now huddled on the floor, rocking back and forth on her heels. His choice was before him and it wasn't a choice at all. It was a death. He looked at Yaxley again and made a very big show of shoving his hands in his pockets and shrugging as nonchalantly as possible. This was it. Black and white…and every shade of grey in between.

He smiled and spoke.

"Kill me."


	13. Chapter 12

**I don't own it, make no profit, all rights to JK and co.**

**AN: So this is a huge part of Draco's side of the story. I hope you enjoy this chapter and that everything makes sense. If not, let me know and I'll do my best to answer questions. Yes, things are moving rather quickly, but then, this is all exposition, really. We could go a couple different directions after this, I'm still deciding what will be best for the story. Cheers! Leave me a cookie, please! PLEASE.**

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><p>Till the day he died, Draco would swear he didn't know how they got out of there alive. The minute the words were past his lips Yaxley had lifted his wand, prepared to utter the killing curse and only Draco's own quick thinking distracted the man long enough for Draco to run for cover, pausing to grab Hermione's arm and drag her along. Well. His quick thinking had involved firing a killing curse of his own at Amycus, but in the split second he'd had to make his decision, he'd figured taking out the werewolf first was the smarter choice. Hermione shrieked when he touched her and clawed at his hand even as he concealed them at the far end of the table, the spindly legs of the chairs providing little protection, but it was the best he could do.<p>

"Hold still!" he hissed at her and she was so distressed she couldn't even form words, she could only sob and continue to try and wrench her arm from his grasp. Draco felt a curse hit the tabletop above them and ducked down further, then fired a curse of his own through the legs of the table. He heard Yaxley's insane laughter, but he wasn't sure if that was normal, or if pain made the Death Eater happy. He supposed either was entirely possible and quickly fired off another curse before Yaxley could make his way further around the table. Draco leant towards Hermione again.

"Think, please! How do we get out of here?"

"I can't…I don't…know!" she sobbed and shut her eyes tightly, then tried to cover her ears. Draco took a precious few seconds to yank her hands away and held her wrists tighter than he'd have liked, but it had come down to sink or swim and damn it, he could be kind and gentle with her all he liked but if she was too dead to care then there wasn't much point to any of it. He said as much and shook her a bit. Her eyes flew open and stared straight into his.

"Please," he whispered, ducking and sheltering her again suddenly as another shower of sparks flew over their heads. When he lifted his eyes to hers again, he could see something had changed. She was looking at him, but he knew she wasn't seeing him. She was lost deep inside herself, but she could hear him and in the maze of her mind she was working out their escape.

"The door," she mumbled. "Down the hall. To the left."

Draco nodded and lifted himself partly up on his knees, long enough to fire back several curses in quick succession. Yaxley's laughter died away into a gurgle momentarily and Draco sprang from his poor excuse for a hiding place, dragging Hermione along behind him again. He didn't spare a glance at the Death Eaters – one was definitely dead and one was injured and that was all he needed to know. Getting himself and Hermione out of the house was more important than details just then and he ran like hell, satisfied that at least she was following him now, though he still had to hurry her.

A cry of rage came from behind them as they exited the dining room and started down what seemed like a never-ending hallway. Draco put on an extra burst of speed and twisted and turned about, firing behind them. Hermione kept her head down and followed him, no longer resisting his hand on her arm. He called to her over the roar of the spell work clouding the air.

"Where to now?"

"Out!" she screamed back at him. "Straight ahead, outside!"

Draco did what she told him without a second thought, opening the door to the outside – wherever outside was – and dragging her with him just as another curse flew past them. She cried out and he turned, terrified she'd been hit, and caught her to him just as his feet touched the step outside. The world began to spin and in that second Draco thought he saw Yaxley, staggering down the hall after them, wand raised and ready and he did the only thing he could think of…lifting his wand as he fell back from the house with his burden, he released Fiendfyre from the tip of his wand into the open doorway. Then the world righted itself in a dizzying swirl of magic and Draco felt his breath knocked from him as he hit the sandy ground and rolled several feet.

He was on his feet again in seconds, knowing that they'd been drawn into another of Yaxley's transportation spells. Since he didn't know where the spell came out, he crouched low over Hermione's still form and glanced about quickly to make sure they were alone before he dared check her over. After all, if Yaxley wasn't dead then he would follow them very quickly. Draco cast a few protective charms about them and then placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Hey," he murmured. "Are you, ah…hell." He hung his head momentarily and then sat back wearily, rubbing his face. He didn't even know what to call her, didn't even know where they were…he looked around again and gave a slight start. The spell had deposited them back at the original address, except the illusion spells were no longer active and all Draco could see was a decrepit shack, obviously uninhabited for ages. He looked up the dune quickly to the track above and could still see his vehicle. Relief swept over him. Well, that was one less question. Draco looked back at Hermione, who remained lying in the sand, so still. He shuddered and reached for her again.

"Hey," he repeated. "Wake up. Please, wake up." Still nothing. Draco rubbed at his jaw and reinforced his charms, then cast a detection spell over her, searching for any injuries. Minor ones, mostly. Nothing that would prove fatal, at least not that he could see. He wondered what was keeping her under. Was it the stress? She'd had a complete meltdown just minutes ago, after all and she hadn't been given a chance to breathe in the interim, let alone recover from her shock. Draco recalled what Yaxley had said, about her being useless for days after an episode like that and he was just debating picking her up and taking her to his car when a popping noise alerted him to magic being performed. Another transportation spell? Draco stood up, protectively keeping Hermione's prone form behind him and sure enough, the door of the dilapidated shack blew outwards, knocking into the simple wards Draco had cast. The force of the more advanced spell hit his own magic and nearly knocked him to his feet.

It wasn't over – of course it wasn't over, he'd been a fool to even hope so – but it soon would be. Draco acted on instinct one last time and Fiendfyre poured from the tip of his wand like water before the latest inhabitant of the shack could even step foot outside. He released the spell to let it consume the dwelling and then, in his fear and panic, he cast it again and then a third, final time, letting it run as it would, vicious and angry as he was at being so terrified. He glanced back at Hermione to see if she'd noticed his sudden motions, but she remained where she was, her eyes and her mind closed to the world.

Draco turned back to the burning shack and felt the heat of the fire blaze at him through his wards. Some small part of him felt ashamed at his actions. He'd gladly cast the curses that had killed two wizards, and yet…mostly he was relieved that he was still alive, and that he'd done what he'd set out to do. Hermione Granger was alive and free of Yaxley…that is, if the man was truly dead. The only way to know for sure, Draco supposed, would be to stay and sort through the ashes afterwards…except the Muggles would no doubt be attracted by the blaze that the Fiendfyre had set off; and they'd be there with their emergency vehicles and sirens; and Draco was too tired to waste his precious energy and magic on avoiding inquisitive Muggles and their endless, invasive questions.

No, Draco didn't intend to stick around that long at all. First things were first and he and his reluctant refugee needed rest. Turning from the swiftly burning shanty, he knelt to scoop Hermione into his exhausted arms and then he climbed the stairs towards his car and left the scene soon after, Hermione tucked safely beside him in the passenger seat.

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><p>Draco didn't sleep that first night…or rather, he tried to but an assortment of pessimistic thoughts kept him from finding that elusive, dreamless darkening of the mind. The most he managed despite his harried thoughts and fears was dozing lightly in an armchair while Hermione lay on his bed, sleeping off her episode. That was before she woke up screaming again, of course. The sound was as terrible as the first time he'd heard it and Draco jumped up from the armchair to find Hermione thrashing about on the bed, her mouth open in that drawn out expression of agony. He hesitated before he finally flicked his wand, casting a silencing charm and reinforcing the wards he'd placed on the room earlier, then he was at her side and shaking her gently.<p>

"Wake up, please. It's just a nightmare," he whispered. Her eyes flew open at the sound of his voice and she stared at him in horror for a moment before her eyes flicked over his person, searching for something. She saw the torn sleeve hanging from his shirt – he hadn't bothered to clean up – and suddenly wrenched herself from his grasp in order to tear at the fabric more, to pull it away from his arm. Draco watched her face closely as she exposed his arm, just as Yaxley had earlier and he saw confusion descend upon her. His arm was bare again, his Mark concealed safely behind the best glamour charm he could cast.

She twisted his arm this way and that, searching for what she knew she'd seen earlier, but after several seconds more of just holding his arm and staring down at the bare skin in puzzlement, she seemed to remember that the arm was attached to a person. She looked back up at Draco with a guilty start and released his arm, then scooted across the bed from him to huddle at its head, her back to the wall, her legs curled up to her chest. She seemed to talk to herself, so softly he barely heard her.

"Just a dream? A nightmare?" she mouthed, rocking again, confusion on her face even as she looked up at him.

Draco had made a soft sound of amusement when she'd held his arm, but now he stood back and observed her coolly. He thought he should feel guilty over lying to her, after she'd been lied to for so long, but he also knew it was for the best…for now. He reached a decision and slowly removed the remains of his shirt, sliding it off his torso and then casting it away. She made a distressed noise and reached a hand out, as if to stop him, but he didn't come towards her, just stood there bare chested, both arms exposed, and turned around slowly.

She spoke to him finally and it was the most she'd said to him yet.

"Please, put it back on. I'm sorry. I didn't…I wasn't feeling myself for a moment there." She gave a shaky laugh. "Not that I know what feeling myself is really like." Draco moved away from the bed and hunted for a clean shirt, then pulled it on swiftly and walked back to the bed. Cautiously, his hands up in reassuring gesture, he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Never mind that, then," he said. "How _do_ you feel?"

She didn't quite answer his question, but still, more words spilled from her mouth. Like she'd kept herself quiet for so long that once she'd begun to talk – really talk – her mouth kept working of its own volition, there were so many things she needed to say…so many things she wanted to say.

"I could have sworn…I am sorry. I sometimes have these thoughts, flashes of pictures. I don't always know what's happening." Her brow furrowed. "What did happen?"

"We…" Draco paused, unsure if he should tell her the truth, unsure how much she remembered. He settled for a very, very whitewashed version of events. So whitewashed, in fact, that he didn't say much of anything. "I took you away," he said. He eyed her for a reaction. "What do you remember?"

She ignored his question and stared at him with wide eyes before she launched herself across the bed to grab his arm and shook it, her thin hands surprisingly strong. "Away? But…oh, god, take me back. Please, take me back!"

"I can't," he told her calmly. "We can't go back there again. It was…a fire started. I think everyone is dead. We were lucky to get out alive, ourselves."

"Lucky to be…alive…oh, no." Her hands slid from his arm and she curled in on herself again, her hands covering her ears as she'd tried to hours before. "No, no, _no!_"

"Please, listen to me," Draco began and she put her hands out suddenly to keep him back.

"No! I don't want…I never wanted this! How could you! Those poor people," she sobbed. "Those poor…how could you!"

Draco frowned against guilt over something he hadn't even done and reached up to take her hands, but she snatched them away to cover her ears again. She continued to rock, begging to be taken back, accusing him of practically murdering Yaxley's other victims…people she couldn't even recognize as her own parents any longer. People who were already dead. Her voice rose in volume and her sobs grew harder. Draco knew she would make herself sick if he let her go on much longer and he climbed further onto the bed. Reaching out, he grabbed her arms and tugged her against him, wrapping his arms about her tightly to keep her from striking out. She trembled violently with the effort to escape him, but he held tight and began to make soothing noises.

"Listen to me," he murmured over and over and her sobs finally dissolved into soft weeping, her trembling grew sporadic. He tucked her head under his chin, turned her face against his shoulder. "Listen to me…those people…they're already gone. There wasn't anyone with us tonight except those men, I promise. I am so sorry to have to tell you this, but it's true. Please, believe me. They were gone a long time ago."

"You don't know that – "

"I do. Listen to me. When was the last time you even saw them? Think hard, now. Try to remember."

Her cries turned into sniffles and she shivered lightly before stilling completely and for several minutes all they heard was one another's breath…and the beating of their hearts. She finally shifted in his arms again and he let her go, convinced she would be calm. She sat on the bed, staring down at the sheets forlornly, her cheeks streaked with tears and her chin with snot. She wiped at her face some and seemed mortified at the state of herself, but she didn't cry again or scream. All traces of panic were gone and it was like…it was as though she were resigned to the truth.

"Months," she finally murmured. "Maybe years? I don't know, I stopped keeping track of time. And then I had so many…episodes. It's hard to know what I'm about from day to day." She let out a bitter laugh. "I never thought…I suppose I didn't want to think it. They were all I had. That man…his was the last face I remember. He was crying. Sometimes it was over me, I think. The woman…I didn't know she was his wife at first, just knew he kept calling her name. I thought it was my name, he said it so much and it was just us. But I guess I did know – she was so lifeless that night I saw her. So still, lying on the floor. And then they took me away from the man, too and all I knew was that he said if I didn't do what he told me he would kill them. If I ever left, he would kill them, and if he did that then I would never know who I was. I guess he was right, they knew me, but I…all I can remember is her, so still and then he was looking down at me and crying and calling her name. My name? I don't know," she finished in a whisper.

She looked up at Draco again and her eyes were empty as she remembered what she could of her past, of that night Yaxley had described to him, and though Draco knew he'd done the right thing at the time, he suddenly had no idea how to proceed.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly and she came to herself and blinked at him wearily.

"No," she said. "It's not…your fault. It's mine. I should have known they were dead. I shouldn't have lied to myself. But I'm just so…useless. I shouldn't be surprised at any of this, that I've been so stupid…" She began to cry again softly. "That man. Oh, god. That poor man."

Draco dared reach out, dared to wrap his arms around her again and she didn't so much give in to his embrace as allow him to hold her unyielding, huddled form.

"You're not stupid," Draco said. "You aren't. You've been…in a tight spot."

She continued to cry and he rubbed circles over her back. "Tell me about him," he said finally. "The man…the woman. Tell me."

She remained how she was, tense and hurt, but to his surprise after a few seconds she began to describe to him in halting tones what little she remembered of the people she didn't even realize were her parents. The something that had filled him earlier, that had ached within his breast and made his heart and limbs heavy, filled him again as he listened to her. No, he thought, I don't know how to go on from here. I've saved her physically…for now, but I've no idea what to do about her mind. She can't even see a Dark Mark without losing what little she has left. If I take her back now she'll end up in Mungo's, her face will be plastered across all the papers, her story will be fodder for every reprehensible reporter imaginable and her friends…they'll be expecting someone she isn't any longer.

I can't do that to her, he thought. Never mind that he didn't even know if they were truly safe yet or not. He had no doubt that in addition to the Muggles' expected interference in the fires that night, the Australian Aurors would also get involved, as traces of Fiendfyre and other magic would be obvious. Shaking his head, he focused on Hermione again and looked down to find her watching him, her shoulders still hunched, her eyes unfathomable.

"Is your name really Daniel?" she asked him and he smiled softly, sadly.

For now it has to be, he told himself. Aloud he said, "Yes. Daniel Mains, British businessman extraordinaire, at your service."

"Daniel Mains, British…?" She paused and mouthed his name a few times, then looked at him again. "Am I British?"

Draco hesitated, then rubbed her back again.

"I don't know," he said slowly. "But I suppose we'll have to get you registered somehow. Would you like to be British?"

"I don't know," she echoed thoughtfully. "Registered," she repeated, then sighed. "I'm sorry. This is so…weird. I can't think right now, I'm so tired. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," he murmured and suddenly wanted to explain himself. "I should be apologizing to you. I did all this without thinking, without talking to you first. Not that I could've. But I just saw you and…"

"It's ok," she said. "It's not ok now, I'm not ok, but it will be. Right? It has to be. I mean, no, I don't know you, but…I don't know myself, either. And anywhere is better than before. Any_thing_ is better."

She sounded as forlorn as she looked, but she was speaking calmly, clearly and Draco felt some of the tension in his shoulders lift. They were far from being out of danger, but she was right. At least they were alive and away from Yaxley. His hand on her back stilled and she slowly drew away from him to curl up on the bed, facing away from him. He gazed down at her and watched as her breathing evened out. He was about to follow her lead and head for the armchair again when she spoke.

"Daniel," she said and he stopped and turned back to her. She hadn't moved, but she was clearly talking to him.

"Yes?"

"You're not going to leave, are you?"

"Not unless you want me to," he responded as lightly as possible and she shook her head quickly.

"No."

He nodded and headed for the armchair once more. Her voice broke the stillness again.

"Daniel."

"Yes?" he responded, his voice as gentle as before.

"What's going to happen now?"

Draco thought seriously as he turned the chair so it was facing the bed. He settled into it.

"We're going to try and sleep."

"And after that?"

"After that…I'm going to help you."

"But won't you…you're a businessman. Won't you have work?"

"I will," he replied hesitantly.

"But you won't send me away, or make me go in a hospital? He used to…threaten me. He said I was only good for…" Her voice disappeared into a long moan and Draco stood up again quickly and made his way back to the bed where he immediately lay down and drew her into his arms. She stiffened at first, but a second later she allowed him to hold her close as she cried again at the unexpected, terror filled memories.

Yaxley, Draco thought. The bastard likely threatened to have her committed. If I do this, if I keep her safe from prying eyes until she remembers who she is, until we can find a cure, I'll be fighting nothing but an uphill battle for weeks – months, even. But then, what else could he do…he'd finally grown a backbone and it wouldn't let him do anything but his utmost. He swore to himself and tightened his embrace.

"No, I won't send you away. You can stay with me as long as you want to. I won't ever send you away. I've been on the receiving end of threats, myself, and I won't do that to you, I promise. Shh, you've been through enough. Hush, now."

She continued to cry quietly and Draco ran a hand over her short hair, feeling its curls spring up beneath his fingers. He felt something other than guilt, other than sorrow. She brought her hands to his arms, wrapped protectively around her and the ache spread. He buried his face in her hair.

"Try to sleep," he whispered. "Try. I'll be here."

She didn't reply, just curled her fingers over his arms. He lost track of the hours, but silence descended on the room again before dawn lightened the wide windows, and that first night – the worst night – finally ended in a vague semblance of peace.


	14. Chapter 13

**Don't own, make no money, all rights to JK and co.**

**AN: Ok! A bit more of the story, here. We might have another chapter or two of Draco's story, but I'm not certain yet. What do you guys think? It could work either way. Appreciate your input, folks! Please enjoy! **

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><p>The first week passed in a haze of late nights and early mornings, of nightmares and cups of tea and too many boxes of tissue to be counted. On the nights she didn't wake up screaming, Draco would wake to find her huddled in a corner of the room, staring at the door to the suite as if she expected <em>him<em> to come barging in, calling for her. The first time he found her that way, he wordlessly got up and huddled on the floor with her, holding her as he had that first night. They shared the bed without question after that and the second week passed a little more calmly.

Not surprisingly, Draco didn't feel anything for her when he was holding her sobbing, shaking figure in his arms. The thought of kissing her after what he knew Yaxley must have done to her made him sick and he was able to look at her and feel only compassion and pity; and the indescribable ache that sometimes reared its head was buried beneath the weight of what had been done to her and what he'd done to save her. Fortunately, she seemed pleased that he was simply around. There was no expectation in her behavior for anything other than his conversation and the relative normalcy he could offer her. She probably didn't even want his pity, but though it was there just the same, he was careful not to let it show. The first time he'd drawn a proper bath for her, for instance, and helped her into the bathroom, ready to go so far as undoing her buttons for her, she'd pulled away from him with an angry flush in her cheeks and made it quite clear that she wasn't helpless.

"I know I can't sleep through the night," she'd said, her voice an emotional whisper, "but I've lost my memories, not my mind! I know what a button is!"

He'd backed off since then – he hadn't brought up the fact that his exchange would be over in just a month since he'd first informed her of his position and he'd allowed her to take each day as it came. He knew what recovery felt like – Merlin, did he know. He wasn't about to force the issue, or rush her into anything for which she wasn't ready. She was an easy enough guest, after all, excluding the nightmares and the sheer emotional weight of the situation. She willingly stayed in the suite, didn't eat much, carefully cleaned up after herself, and most days he came back from work to find her huddled on the sofa, watching television.

Today was no different…except of course they were one day closer to him having to make a decision for her.

Draco stepped in the room and closed the door behind him. He heard the buzz of the television before he moved around the corner to see her sitting where he'd found her every other day, tucked into one corner of the sofa, her legs drawn to her chest, her chin resting on her knees as she watched the flashing screen with a thoughtful, intent expression. Draco looked at her a moment as he loosened his tie and then moved forward, crossing the room between her and the television in order to set his briefcase down at the desk. Her eyes followed him, no longer watching the screen. He felt her gaze, but he didn't turn to look at her. He didn't want her to know how aware of her he was. Instinct told him that would be bad…and the ache he couldn't define seemed to prove it. So instead, he focused on ordering his papers, taking off his jacket, his shoes and in general getting comfortable in order to spend a long evening writing reports. With the exchange over halfway over, it was time to start pulling together his notes in preparation for his final presentations to both companies.

He could hear her move somewhat and knew she'd turned in order to continue watching him more easily.

"Anything good on the telly?" he asked and though he didn't really expect a response, he hoped today would be a good day. He needed a good day. Though he didn't want to force her recovery, if he was being honest with himself it had been hard to live with her these last weeks. He wasn't a trained therapist, or healer. He only knew one kind of trauma and that was his own. He was ill-equipped to deal with not-Hermione, as he'd begun to call her…which was just another sign of how little he knew. They'd avoided the real issues so much that he hadn't even established a name for her, though she called him by his alias – frequently, too, as though it was a spell whose repetition would ensure her safety. I know someone, said her tone of voice when she used his name. I know someone and he's a real man who doesn't hurt me, doesn't expect anything of me, knows who he is and isn't hiding from the world – which was a lie in the first place and so her confidence in him didn't really make him feel any better.

She made it a good day anyway and instead of answering his question, she tentatively engaged him in conversation.

"There's war in the Middle East again," she said. "I feel like…that's something I remember."

Draco hesitated before answering. This could be a clue to her. He couldn't push it, couldn't give her any false memories. She had to remember everything on her own.

"Do you remember a war, then?" he asked and turned to look at her. She was frowning.

"Not particularly. It just seems like something that was…normal. I remember conflict somewhere in the world, but not necessarily in the Middle East. Somewhere closer to home, I think. But then, there've always been conflicts of some kind, haven't there. So I might not remember anything at all."

"As you're fond of pointing out to me, you lost your memories of who you are, not basic knowledge. If you remember conflict, then it's likely real information, a real memory." He paused and sat down, continuing to watch her. "We could use it as a starting point for research. If you figure out which conflict it was we might be able to pinpoint a year, or at least a general timeline."

She sighed and turned away to stare at the television again. "We could."

Her dismal tone jarred his guilt again and he decided to tempt fate. "Why don't we just contact the police, or a missing persons hotline?" he asked. "Maybe someone will recognize you."

Though Yaxley's spell to keep her invisible to film was still in effect – and Draco couldn't tell whether it was a sign the man was alive or not – at least other people could see her in person. And if bringing Hermione Granger directly to the authorities didn't convince them of his honesty, then he didn't know what would. However, she reacted the way she had the first time he'd made the suggestion.

"And risk…no. No, please, I can't. I'm sorry," she said, her voice suddenly hoarse with emotion and she twisted around again. She gripped the arm of the sofa and looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. "Please. I know I'm an inconvenience. I'm sorry."

Draco exhaled slowly and glanced away. He hated bringing it up again, himself. He was as terrified as she was that Yaxley might still be out there and ready to strike at the slightest mistake they made, but making suggestions of that kind were a balm to his guilty conscience. He had to check with her, to see if she were ready to take a chance. She deserved the option, after all, of having it all be over. Of finding the truth, no matter how much it hurt in the end. Then, if she still said no, he'd know he was continuing to do the right thing, protecting her this way…even if he personally thought the life he was offering her was as bad as the slavery she'd been in before. Not that she agreed with him. She gave every indication of being so much…well, if not happier, then at least she was calmer, more at peace with him…and at the start of the slow road to recovery.

"You aren't an inconvenience," he told her softly. "How many times do I have to say it? This was my choice. Everything else is yours and that's how it should be. That's how I want it and I was prepared for it." He looked back at her to find her watching him intently. There was still fear in her eyes, but it was tempered with resignation.

"Then…in that case…I want to make a choice."

His breath caught in his throat. She didn't take her eyes from his face, clearly searching it for...what, he didn't know. He waited for her to go on and she finally drew her eyes down to stare at her hands.

"I think…I should go to England. When you go back, I mean. I'd like to go, too."

He started to speak and she hurried on, not letting him get a word out.

"It's just that I know we don't have much time left and I promise I don't want to go just because you're helping me, or because I'll be alone here once you leave, but I figured…I've been watching the television and between that and all the trips to the beach I know I don't have an Australian accent. And even if I was with…them…for years, or months, that wouldn't be enough time for my speech patterns to change, or to adopt their accents. Right? That makes sense, doesn't it? So I think I must be British, or maybe some other commonwealth, at the very least. And in that case, I really should be looking for answers over there, don't you think?"

Though he was terrified of what this revelation would mean, Draco gave her a small, encouraging smile.

"That's brilliant," he said.

Her tense features collapsed into a genuine smile, the corners of her eyes crinkled in timid pleasure.

"Really? You really think so?"

"I do," he responded more easily. "I think it's a very good idea. However…"

She tensed again and he put a hand up to indicate it wasn't anything bad.

"It's just that we'll have to decide a few more things if you truly want to come with me. We may even have to break a few laws."

She went pale, but she didn't panic and he watched as she stuck her chin out defiantly.

"Well of course," she said. "I figured that, since we can't go to the police. And how am I going to be allowed to travel if I don't have registration and a…passport, right?" Her momentary defiance melted into uncertainty as quickly and her eyes searched him again. "Will it be too much trouble? If I'm found out it could be very hard for you and you're already in enough danger, just from…"

"It's – well, it's not nothing," he began, "but please, believe me. I've had far worse. I told you, I knew how things might be the minute I saw you."

She pressed her lips together and flushed under his even gaze. It wasn't the first time he'd said such a thing, of course, but for some reason it had struck her anew. He watched her process his words, watched as the flush crept further along her skin and he turned from her, suddenly busy with his papers again. Suddenly unable to take that innocent gaze.

He felt dirty – not for the first time since taking her on, but it was different this time. That flush on her skin made it different and his sudden discomfort didn't extend from his years of moral ambiguity and knowing he'd helped torture her kind. It extended from – and to – somewhere else entirely and its appearance completely threw him. Draco swallowed thickly and stared down at his papers. He forced himself to fill in the silence.

"Well, now that's decided, you'd better pick a name," he said, keeping his voice light. "I know it won't be the same as knowing who you are, but we'll need one anyway for the paperwork, nevermind that I feel terrible for going weeks calling you 'hey you'."

There wasn't a response and Draco dared turn back around to find she was still watching him, a thoughtful expression on her face as she rested her head on her arms. The flush was safely gone from her cheeks and he wondered briefly if he'd imagined it before she finally opened her mouth and saved him another awkward moment.

"You haven't called me that," she said softly. "Not once. I'd have remembered."

Her meaning hit his gut hard and he felt dirty and sick that time. He turned back around, unable to take her direct gaze.

"No," he started in, a bit brusquely. "I haven't been calling you anything at all and that's worse, somehow. It'll be nice to…"

"To what? Call me by a name that isn't mine?"

His shoulders tensed at the hurt in her voice, but he knew that he hadn't caused it. She was upset, but it wasn't at him. It was at the world that had done this to her, that had left her bereft of everything that might have given her a will to live those long years with Yaxley. That had taken any happy memories she could have escaped into, all the times she'd suffered at his hands.

She sighed and he heard her shift again. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know you're right. I'll try to think about it."

"It won't be your name forever," he pointed out gently as he pushed back from the desk and stood up. It was time to admit to himself he wouldn't get any work done that night – not until she was tucked in bed, at least. He walked over to the sofa and knelt in front of her. She'd hunched over her knees, her face buried against her folded arms, and he reached up and gently ran his hands over her hair, brushing the errant locks back from her cheeks. She turned her head and stared to the side as he continued to run his fingers through her curls.

"I'm sorry for pushing," he said, thinking she just wasn't ready for it yet. "I know it's not easy for you." She wrinkled her nose slightly, trying to keep tears at bay, but she didn't speak and he brought his hands down to rest on her shoulders. "Tell me," he said. "What are you thinking?"

At that she sat up and he let his hands fall to either side of her as she straightened and rubbed at her face. He was still kneeling before her as if being prone in front of Hermione Granger was the most natural thing in the world. As if pleading with her and cajoling her was something he'd been doing his whole life…as if she were becoming his whole life. He felt guilt again, felt that discomfort, but he stayed where he was. It will pass, he told himself. Whatever strange thoughts have reared their ugly heads today, they will all pass. Her recovery is more important than any imaginary emotional crisis I'm having, or will have.

As if to test himself he took her hands in his, drawing her gaze back to him. She licked her lips and though his lids flickered at the sight, he stayed where he was…and with a flash of clarity he knew he would remain there for a long time. He squeezed her hands lightly.

"You know what? Never mind all that. Why don't I order us some dinner –"

"Jean," she said. He looked at her blankly. She squeezed his hands in return and repeated herself, her gaze suddenly soft and understanding. "The name I want you to call me. At least for now. I know it was…her name. But it felt like mine, sometimes. Is that too strange? Should I pick something else?"

Draco snapped back to attention and covered her hands with his completely. "No, no. That's fine. It's your choice. If it feels right, that's all that matters."

She looked at him shyly, her eyes darting between their hands and his face. He realized and let go of them abruptly, scrambling up from his knees in order to sit next to her on the sofa.

"So?" she prompted him and he looked at her strangely. She smiled again – just a small one and still timid, but it was there nonetheless. "Will you say it? Please? Call me that, I mean."

"Oh. Yes, if you want to…test it out?"

"That's right," she said a bit breathlessly, as if she were excited, yet terrified of the prospect of having a name at all – even if it wasn't hers.

He ached to tell her it was her name, even if only half of it. He ached to tell her so many things, but he held himself in check and instead cleared his throat.

"Alright. If you're sure."

She nodded seriously and he twisted his mouth ruefully.

"Good. Then…how would you like some dinner now…Jean?"

Her eyes fluttered closed and the curve of her lips deepened and the urge to kiss her swept over him like a tidal wave. He got to his feet instead and made for the phone, ready to call room service on her say.

"I'd like that…Daniel," she replied softly and he turned back to see her looking at nothing in particular – merely reveling in the sound of a name being applied to her, a small slice of identity, of normalcy. It was a beautiful sight.

It should have made him happy…but the shades of grey clouded his world as suddenly as they'd left, weeks before, hiding all his good intentions beneath a thick layer of guilt and colored deeply by his past crimes. Draco tore his eyes from her and turned to the phone, unable to feel any pride at those first steps towards recovery she'd just taken; and feeling more like a dirty, disgusting excuse for a man than he ever had before.

The phone weighed heavily in his hand. The thought of food made him ill. He spoke anyway and hoped his voice didn't sound as strangled as it felt.

"Wonderful. What do you fancy?"

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><p><strong>AN: Poor Draco! Aw, the angst. <strong>


	15. Chapter 14

**I don't own it, or make a profit. All rights to JK and co.**

**AN: Finally, another chapter! I hope this explains a bit more about their relationship. We're switching to the present in the next chapter and then later we'll get some more of the back story, but in Jean's pov. How's that all sound? Whee! **

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><p>Draco didn't rock her to sleep anymore those last weeks in Australia. Conveniently, he had enormous amounts of paperwork to complete as the exchange drew to a close, late night and early morning conference calls, not to mention making arrangements for their travel. He knew it hadn't escaped her notice that he wasn't sharing the bed with her any longer, but she didn't mention it and it didn't seem to bother her. At least, he hoped it didn't bother her because if it did, if she directed one more shy look his way, he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold himself together. Besides, he was there for the important parts. He stayed by the bed when she went to sleep and was there in the morning when she awoke. If she woke up in the night screaming, he would leave the desk to crawl onto the bed and stiffly hold her until she stopped. He took as many meals with her as possible and he very considerately ordered her whatever help she needed as the date of their departure drew closer. He kept her company in front of the television. He bought her books on Britain and magazines on current events. He encouraged her to talk to him and he continued to pester her – gently – about leaving the hotel to try and accustom herself to society again. He let her hold his hand. He held her hand in return. He called her Jean. He watched her smile the first time he called her Jeannie instead.<p>

He fell in love with her.

And he did everything he could to make sure she would never know.

It was a new kind of torture, this waiting and watching and hoping for a chance he knew would never be his. He could never hold her the way he now wanted to, could never provide that sort of comfort. By the very nature of their situation his rescue of her would go unrewarded except for the pleasure he felt at each new indication she was crawling cautiously from her shell. He knew that as soon as he found a cure for her – if he found a cure – she would have the same questions as everyone else was bound to. Why hadn't he brought her straight to Potter, why hadn't he told her right away, why, why, why…questions he would never be able to answer without sounding like the coward he was. Those brave decisions he'd made weeks before, to help her, to challenge Yaxley, to risk his own life…he felt like a fraud in the face of her confusion and grief, and yet.

Yet, when she sat next to him, when her fingers curled around his, when she cast sideways glances and gazed at him from beneath a heavy fringe of lashes, he almost felt that it didn't matter. She was safe, she would recover her memories, and his time with her was precious. She needed it, he told himself. She needed to adjust, to learn to live again, if only for a short while. He could do that much for her. He could allow her to just be, without the media, without the faces of people who might do nothing more than remind her of everything she tried to forget, those nights when she cried into the bed sheets. That was the worst part, he thought. Even when his time ran out – and he knew perfectly well that once he got her back to England their time to find a cure would be very limited, indeed – and she was in the company of friends, he had no way of knowing how she would react to them. If even the mention of magic, or the sight of a Dark Mark sent her out of her mind, then Draco had no way of knowing if she would be able to handle seeing her oldest friends; and the ones with whom she had been through the most.

Oh, sure, she didn't recognize him, but they'd also been thrust together, forced to bond under high stress. Kill or be killed, as it were. Whereas with Potter, even if she didn't recognize him right away, Draco knew that the minute he confessed to the man that he had Hermione Granger in his care, Potter would fly off the handle and force a reunion – probably ignoring any advice Draco had to give him about keeping the whole magic thing quiet. And anyway, what if something as small as Potter's scar set her off after the inevitable confrontation? No, it was too risky. He had no way of knowing how she might react until he had her examined properly and she was nowhere near ready to trust him not to leave her in the hospital once he had her there. So, tender evenings in front of the telly and softly held hands it was until he was more certain she wouldn't run at the first sign of trouble, or doctors.

It was a new kind of torture, but it was torture just the same.

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><p>They spent their last night in Australia beneath the stars, the night air cool and crisp around them and salted with the sea. Jean, as he'd finally begun to think of her, walked ahead of him slightly on the beach. She never got too far away before she'd turn and stare at him, watching for his permission to keep going. It was a sad reminder of all she'd been through before and Draco couldn't help returning her shy smile with a grim expression.<p>

"What? What is it?" she asked, suddenly nervous. "Daniel?"

He caught up with her and bumped his shoulder to hers gently. "Nothing bad, Jeannie," he murmured. "Just that…you don't have to wait for me, you know. You can walk ahead if you want to. Could run, for all I care. I'm not going to stop you."

"But I should…" Her voice trailed off as she realized what she'd been doing and she swallowed hard and blinked quickly against the tears welling up in her eyes. "Oh, god," she mumbled and pressed her hands to her eyes. "It's never going to end, is it? Oh, god…"

Draco watched her a moment more and then drew her hands from her face slowly. He leaned down to look her in the eyes.

"Nothing ever goes away completely," he told her. "But it does get easier. To see those things in yourself, and to correct them. And you'll make loads more memories – good ones, I promise, and they'll make it easier too."

She shook her head and some tears spilled out. A breeze ruffled her curls and she turned her face away from the sand as it blew down the beach. Draco sighed and pulled her close to him, tucking her against his chest more tenderly than he had for weeks. He ran a hand up into her hair and felt her shiver lightly.

"Oh, Jean," he whispered, looking down the beach to where he'd first seen her – what seemed like a lifetime ago and yet no time at all. He turned his mouth to her hair and pressed a kiss there – the only kiss with her he'd allow himself.

"It hasn't been two months," he said. "Not even that. It's going to take a long time to…"

But he couldn't say 'get over' or 'move on'. He couldn't even call it closure, not when Yaxley was likely still out there. She shivered again and he rested his head against hers. She spoke.

"To live again."

He lifted his head and looked down at her. She brought her eyes to meet his.

"That's what you meant. Right?"

"Right, Jean," he replied, and he knew she was right. She'd found the words to express his thoughts and he wondered at it, at her eyes watching him so wisely. It was as if in that moment the old Hermione were peering up at him through the darkness. He smiled some and then leaned down to kiss her hair again before releasing her, but she did something extraordinary then – she turned her face up to meet his at the last second.

His lips touched hers and it was like his heart had never beaten before that moment. It was unexpected and sweet and he allowed himself to enjoy it for oh, such a brief moment before he pulled away and held her from him. She was still watching him with those eyes that were Hermione's and he forced himself to let her go before he could drag her back to him. She doesn't know who she is, he told himself. How can I let her kiss me knowing what I do?

"Jean," he said with a ragged breath, "I…I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

She glanced away and then back and she was just his Jean again, hurting and lonely.

"Why are you apologizing?" she whispered. "I just thought…it's my fault, anyway. Don't, Dan. Please don't say you're sorry."

"Jeannie…let's just go back now, ok?"

She turned away from him and started down the beach again. He stayed where he was, watching as she got farther away, not knowing what to say or do. Fortunately he didn't have to make up his mind because she finally stopped, yards away from him, feet in the cool surf and turned to face him. He could see her bringing her hands to her mouth and then she was shouting.

"It's not your fault Daniel! Don't feel bad!"

"Jean?" he whispered and took a step forward, glancing around quickly to see if anyone was around to overhear them. She yelled to him again.

"I thought you wanted to kiss me!"

At that his feet dragged him forward. "Merlin, woman, what are you doing," he muttered to himself. Aloud he called back to her. "Jean! You don't have to shout! Come back, we'll talk about it!" Not that he had any intention of talking to her about his feelings. Not that they should've been having that conversation in the first place.

She danced backwards several feet as he walked towards her and she continued to shout.

"It's ok, you know! To want to kiss me! I might be mental, but even I know that!"

He laughed at that, not knowing what else to do, and hurried his steps as best he could with the damp sand beneath his feet.

"And why's that?" he called back.

"We spend a lot of time together! We like each other! Kissing is normal!" She hesitated then and his feet slowed.

"Isn't it?" she asked suddenly, her voice breaking and he was close enough that he could see her face fall, the bright moonlight illuminating her confused expression.

Oh, Jean, he thought. Yes, it is. But not like this.

The look on her face was enough to spur his steps and he began to run towards her, calling her name. When she saw him coming, her eyes widened and her expression cleared…and her face broke into another smile. Then she turned around and began to run too. She threw her arms up in the air and gave several shouts as she raced down the beach, the waves crashing against her legs every so often. Draco laughed again, unable to help himself, and he followed her for all he was worth, only to find himself shouting too, his fists pumping the air as maniacally as hers.

It took more effort than he'd expected to overcome her and he gave a cheer as he passed her, both arms in the air in victory. He heard her laughing behind him, both of them breathing hard and he turned to face her, jogging backwards. She reached out to him and he slipped from her grasp and grinned madly.

"You want me? Come and catch me, Jeannie," he challenged and turned around, putting on more speed. He could hear her laughing again, calling his name.

"Dan! Daniel!" she gasped and he raised a hand in reply, keeping his pace steady. He could hear her gaining on him again and then she was beside him and reaching for him again, grabbing his arm. He shook her off with a laugh and danced out of the way, into the waves. Jeannie laughed with him and reached for him again and again, thwarted every time before she finally launched herself at him and tackled him into the sand and surf.

They rolled around a bit before they both came up from the water, gasping and dripping wet. Draco crawled up the beach, out of the reach of the more aggressive waves and Jean followed him. He started to turn to her, to ask her something, when he found his movement arrested by those hands that were so much stronger than he gave them credit for. He struggled with her, but twisted about as he was he couldn't get the leverage he needed to break free. He looked up to see her leaning over him, pressing him back into the sand, his hands caught above his head.

"Jean," he gasped and laughed again in disbelief. She looked at him seriously, something unreadable flickering in her eyes – indecision, perhaps. He stopped laughing and returned her gaze solemnly. She made her decision then and he could feel her wiry frame pressed to him as she bent her head to his. He tried to pull back and her brows drew together.

"Please, Daniel," she murmured. "Please, let me – even if you don't really want me to, I'm sorry I said that earlier, that I assumed, but I…please. Let me have this. I need…I need to know…"

He could sense what it was she wanted to say, could feel her desperation rising to the surface and he forced himself to relax back into the sand; he didn't fight her.

"Alright," he said. "It's ok."

She gave him a long look, like she was afraid he would take it back, or was only trying to trick her. He could feel her heart beat pounding through her skin and knew she could feel his, just as fast, as nervous. Still, she didn't make her move and he felt her grip on his wrists slackening.

"Jean?" he questioned softly and at that she burst into tears. She let his hands go completely and curled over on him instead, sobbing against his chest. "Aw, Jeannie," he whispered and after a minute of it he wrapped his arms around her and held her. The tide lapped up around their lower legs and he could feel the sand and salt beginning to dry out on their arms and torsos. He ignored it all and stroked her back as she cried, stared up at the stars and wondered how they were ever going to make it a world away. If they couldn't even get past this much here, where reality was suspended and the truth was more of a concept than a set of facts, London was going to eat them alive. It would eat her alive, unless…he sighed and shut his eyes, praying for strength, praying that he didn't screw things up further. Then he shifted beneath her, causing her to lift her head as he propped himself up on an elbow.

"Jean, you're not wrong," he quietly confessed. Her eyes widened and she hastily brushed at her face. He went on before she could respond. "But that doesn't mean it's ok for me to let you kiss me. Or to kiss you back. You're so fresh out of all that…I don't want to hurt you. I don't want you imagining things, or feeling things for me just because I'm the only other person here, or you think I saved you."

"You did save me," she protested. "I know it wasn't perfect and I know he's probably still out there, but any minute away from him is…_paradise_. Please, believe me."

"I do," he said. "But that doesn't mean I should encourage…"

"That's not it," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Dan. I am. That wasn't – I do like you, of course I do, but I know as well as anyone…" She paused, the words sticking in her throat and he knew immediately what she meant.

"You are good enough," he said fiercely, and sat up entirely. "You're good enough for me, or any other bloke out there. Nothing you've been through changes that. You're real, you're a woman with feelings and intelligence and having memories of your past or not doesn't change that. You deserve so much more than this, than me, Jean."

"But when someone asks me who I am –"

"Then you tell them you're Jean and you've been through hell recently but that you're getting better. You tell them you enjoy watching the news and Australian soaps and long walks on the beach. When they ask what you do, you say you're researching your family and learning how to play cards and in-between jobs. And if that still doesn't satisfy them, you can say that you've one friend, at least, and he thinks you're the most beautiful woman in the world and that's all that matters at the end of the bleeding day."

She listened to his tirade, her mouth hanging open slightly in awe, her expression indescribable – somewhere between pleased and overwhelmed.

"Daniel…"

"You're not half a person," he said hoarsely, placing his hands on her shoulders. "You're whole, exactly as you are and your life means something. You're important, Jean."

"Oh, Daniel," she sobbed and flung her arms about his neck suddenly. He could feel her hot tears spilling onto his skin again.

"I didn't think I'd ever feel this way again," she murmured and he brought his arms around her to hold her tight. She went on through her tears. "When I was with him it was always so dark and the days…they ran together until I didn't know if I'd dreamed it all or not – the idea that I had a name, once. Our days on the beach…they were the only thing that made it real again, for just a few hours, but when it ended I'd think I'd been dreaming again. Thought I'd dreamed it all…that it was a word that didn't mean anything, the same as praying."

"What's that?" he dared ask and her arms tightened about his neck before she slipped back from him again to wipe at her face. He watched her closely and she leaned back on her hands and looked up at the night sky.

"Hope," she said. "I was so sure it had never existed, that it was a word I made up because the ocean was so wide and so beautiful to see and I wanted to sail away on it so desperately. But then you…I suppose that's enough. That it ought to be enough," she mused.

He knew she was thinking of the kiss again, of how just the mere fact that she'd been rescued should be enough for her to hope. That she didn't need to go about kissing a man just to prove that she could and not be sick, or want to scream at the same time. That kissing him wouldn't really mean anything in terms of her recovery, that it would just be her substituting one sort of memory with another, no matter how much nicer the new one was. That if she did those things, she would be using him the same way she'd been used.

Except those were two very different things and he needed her to know that, to not feel guilty about the suggestion, or the action. And unfortunately, there was only one way he knew how to get his point across. He glanced down, at his hands uselessly digging into the sand even as the water drifted up and dragged the particles away, and closed his eyes. It wouldn't mean the same thing to her as it did to him – how could it – and he'd always want more from her than she'd ever be able to give, but he wanted to provide something for her beyond physical safety. He wanted her to be free to feel with him, whether it was fear, or anger, or…something more. Oh, how he wanted that something more. So, whether it was right or not, regardless of the consequences, he made the offer once again.

"Jeannie…kiss me."

"Daniel?" She was confused and he looked up again to find her watching him with those wise eyes. "Daniel, it's ok," she began and he interrupted her.

"No, it isn't. It's not ok that you're feeling like this, like it's somehow your fault. It isn't, I promise you. I want you to kiss me. Even if it's just an experiment. It's ok. I…get that."

"Daniel, that just makes it sound so much worse," she mumbled and started to cover her face with her hands, but he caught them in his own. He leaned over to look her in the eyes and coaxed her to face him.

"It is what it is, Jeannie," he said. "Please. If it helps you, I don't mind."

But it was too late and the moment had passed. She'd talked herself out of it. He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed when she answered him.

"No, Daniel…it was stupid of me, I'm so sorry. Please…let's just go back."

He squeezed her hands and searched her face again. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said softly. "I'm sorry for making things weird."

"Stop apologizing," he said. She misunderstood him and tugged her hands from his before turning away from him, certain she'd hurt him. Neither stood up to leave, however, and after a long moment, Draco began to speak again.

"I knew a boy who made…who was forced into a lot of terrible decisions. He…joined a gang because they were threatening his family and as a result people got hurt. Some people died."

As ashamed as she was feeling over the situation from minutes before, Jean couldn't help her curiosity. She understood immediately what he was trying to do and she glanced at him.

"What happened to him?" she asked softly.

"He lost his old life. Had to start over. But he still carries guilt – so much guilt – for the things he did. It's been years, but it never gets any better and he thought...well. He thought that if he just ignored those things long enough they'd go away, or dull with time."

"But they didn't, did they?"

"No," he said and turned to face her. "Not at all."

"You can't blame yourself for everyone's injuries, or…or even their deaths, Daniel," she said, cutting straight to the heart of what he'd meant to say.

"And why not?" he asked. "It seems like a popular approach."

"That's cruel, Dan," she murmured and he looked away and shrugged.

"And we both know life is desperately unfair." He glanced back at her. "But be honest, how do you think that guilt makes me feel?"

She didn't mince words, but he supposed she knew exactly how he felt.

"Worthless," she said.

"That's right," he said calmly – reasonably. He thought it was probably the strangest conversation he'd had to date, but he went on. "So if you can imagine, the guilt I carry every day, that I've learned to live with, still makes me feel like that and then you, my…friend," he said for lack of a better word, "asks to kiss me, please. Believe me when I tell you that it's ok. At this point I figure anything that helps you is worth something."

She was quiet for a moment, processing his words. She looked down at the sand and used a finger to draw a picture. Draco couldn't quite make it out in the shadows they cast and a moment later she'd rubbed it out anyway and was looking at him again.

"So you're trying to tell me that powerful businessman Daniel Mains is made to feel worth something because I want to kiss him, even if my reasons are a mess."

"That sums it up," Draco replied and then he stood up and held out his hand. Jean looked up at it and then him and he gave it a small shake. "Come on," he said. "Nothing is going to happen tonight and we need to get back to the hotel and make sure we're packed and ready for airport security."

He hoped he'd made himself clear enough – that whatever she wanted to have happen would and if she didn't want anything happening then they never needed to speak of it again. But most of all, that she shouldn't feel guilty over using him or any of the other things that happened to her. With the exception of her memory charm on her parents, nothing in her past was her fault. It was all the designs of madmen and there was likely nothing she could have done to stop it. He rather thought she could see what he meant because after a long moment spent contemplating him, she finally reached up and took his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

"Thank you, Daniel," she said and fell into step beside him as they turned and started back down the beach. Her hand didn't leave his and after a moment she began to swing it back and forth very gently. Draco glanced at her with a small smile and joined in the swinging and they walked all the way back to the hotel in comfortable silence.

Far behind them, the moonlight continued to spill across the damp sand where they'd sat, revealing a simple drawing of a heart that had been partly stamped out. After a moment, a quiet wave slipped up the beach and covered the remains of it, washing away all traces and leaving only smooth sand behind.

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><p><strong>AN: Aaawwwww! *hugs Jean and Draco* <strong>


	16. Chapter 15

**I don't own it, don't profit from it, all rights to JK and co. **

**AN: Finally, another chapter and this one in the present. We now begin part 3, I guess you could say. At some point we'll get some of Jean's pov, but for the next chapter or so we'll have mostly all over the board action as I draw things together. :) I hope you like it!**

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><p>Draco was so lost in his memories that it took a minute for the screams to penetrate his thoughts. His head snapped up and he stared at the closed door, hearing her distressed cries through the heavy panel.<p>

"Jean?" he called and pounded on the door once before quickly opening it and stepping inside. He hesitated on the threshold, staring at the scene before him. Jean was frozen in place on the sofa and Draco didn't need to see her face to know her mouth was open and terrified sounds were pouring from it. He looked to Theo and saw his friend standing in front of her, utterly taken aback, his hands dangling uselessly at his sides as he tried to think what to do…and his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms. Exposing a mark that would never fade.

Draco rushed forward, skirting the edge of the sofa in order to be next to Jean and he reached out with both arms, curling one over her face, pressing her head back into his shoulder. His other arm circled her waist, holding her still and close as she began thrashing, the shock wearing off into panic.

"No!" she screamed, fighting him. "No! Oh, god, oh god! Please, no!"

"Jean, Jeannie," he whispered fiercely in her ear. "I'm here. It's me, Daniel. Just us, no one else. Just me. You're safe, Jeannie. Listen to me. You're safe."

Her ordeal went on for several minutes and Draco spent the whole time holding her, keeping her eyes covered, calming her as if she were a wild creature. When she finally stopped struggling she went limp against him a moment later and he knew she'd passed out. He dared look up at Theo then and found the other man watching him with wide, horrified eyes. Guilty eyes.

"I'm sorry," Theo began and Draco shook his head to indicate he should stay quiet. He gave a short nod and Theo stepped back from them. Then, still murmuring gentle words, Draco stood, lifting her in his arms.

He slowly walked them back to their bedroom where he laid her down, carefully arranging her head on the pillow. He covered her with a light blanket and then sat beside her for several minutes more, smoothing her hair back, wiping the tears from her now peaceful face. Finally he seemed to remember that he owed his guest some sort of explanation and he stood up, but not before lifting one of her hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to it. Then he stood and turned to the door – only to find Theo standing there already, watching him. He returned Theo's gaze for a long, steady moment before he cut his eyes back to Jean.

"I'm sorry," Theo murmured again.

Draco made a gesture to keep quiet and pointed to the door. "We can talk out there," he said, voice hushed. Theo nodded and turned to the door after glancing at Jean one more time. Draco followed him out and shut the door gently. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to face his friend, who still seemed unsure what to say. Draco tilted his head some.

"Why don't we take this up in the kitchen – I'll make some tea," he suggested and Theo looked grateful.

"That would be fine," he replied and the two of them walked in silence down the hall and turned the corner into a bright, modern room. Theo looked around, taking it in and giving Draco a chance to arrange cups and tea leaves and set the kettle to boiling. When his friend was finally done and pouring steaming water into two beautifully crafted, porcelain teacups, Theo decided to brave the subject again.

"So, you must have some story for me," he said and Draco's mouth quirked in a half smile.

"You have no idea," he said and glanced up at Theo. His eyes were haunted and Theo's brows drew down in concern.

"Well, if I'm going to help her at all, you'd better start at the beginning."

"No questions first?" Draco asked and Theo shook his head.

"No, and no interruptions either. I think it's best if I hear your side of things from start to finish before I go making a fool of myself again."

Draco pressed his lips together before taking a sip of his tea. "It's not your fault, Theo," he murmured. "It's the Mark. I don't know why, but visuals of magic, more than anything else…she caught part of Lord of the Rings on the telly last week and she was a wreck for hours. Not faces, mind, but actual signs of magic are what seem to do it. I suppose I should have warned you about that, too, except…"

"Except you didn't want to give too much away before I at least had the chance to see her. No, I understand, Draco. But Merlin, I can't imagine what she must have gone through for it to affect her that way." He settled a piercing gaze on Draco. "So. Start at the beginning and don't skip anything. At this point the smallest detail could be absolutely crucial."

Draco dared look hopeful. "So you'll help her? And you'll keep it private…for now?"

"I'm not making any promises, Draco. I'll do what I can, but the minute I think it's beyond my abilities, or if anything seems fishy – anything at all – I will go directly to the Ministry and report every bleeding word, do you understand me, man? And I'm recording everything that goes on, every inch of research, of trials – everything. Is that ok with you? Because if it isn't just say so now and I'll walk out that door and pretend this evening never happened."

Draco was desperate and he was in love and at that point he would've taken anything. He told Theo as much.

"Fine. Do what you feel is necessary. I won't stop you. I just…I want her well, I want her to have her memories. I want her to know herself so well that she never wakes up screaming again. I'm reaching the end of my wand, Theo. I can't stand what's happened to her and I can't stand…"

"You can't stand feeling guilty again just after you'd finally started to feel normal, that's what," Theo retorted, but his face softened immediately. "Draco…or should I call you Daniel?" he suddenly asked and Draco shrugged.

"When I'm with her I'm Daniel," he muttered.

"Do you wish you weren't?" Theo asked curiously and Draco gave him a sharp glance.

"No, actually. I like Daniel better. But for the record, before you start working your psychotherapy rubbish on me, yes, I do feel guilty and yes, I'd feel much better if she knew everything. Mainly because I know that no matter what happens next, this won't last. It never was going to last, so the sooner it's over, the better…for both of us," he ended bitterly.

Theo phrased his next question carefully. "You are…having relations with her?" he asked and Draco's face flushed bright pink.

"I know, I'm sick," he said softly and Theo shook his head.

"I can't say it was the best idea, but I'm not going to judge the situation until I know everything," he replied. "So. Now that all that's out of the way, go on. I'm listening. And taking notes," he added, producing his magical doctor's book and a plain ballpoint pen.

"Are you sure you want everything?" Draco asked, glancing up from his cup of tea. "I thought I might edit out a bit of it."

"Which bit?" Theo asked, momentarily distracted as he filled out a form.

Draco stared back down into his tea and saw his reflection in its dark depths. He smiled a very little.

"The bit where I fell in love with her," he murmured.

Theo looked up and stared at Draco, but the admission didn't really shock him the way he knew it ought to…not when Draco looked so much older than his twenty-four years. He hesitated, then reached across the small island at which they stood and placed his hand on Draco's arm. His friend looked up at him, startled and Theo gave him a gentle look – the sort of gave his patients.

"No," he said. "You'd better tell me everything."

Draco shared a long look with Theo, but all he saw in his friend's face was calm acceptance. He tried to smile and when he found he couldn't, that was when he began to tell his story, completely unaware it was the first mile on his road to redemption.

* * *

><p>Harry peered over Ginny's shoulder at the photo she held in her hands.<p>

"That's her," he said. "Took long enough, but that's her, alright."

Ginny elbowed him and he frowned. "What? It did take them forever," he said and Ron, who was standing nearby and looking weary as ever, rolled his eyes.

"Mate, Pen made it a priority for your sake and you know it. Editing wizard photos isn't like your Muggle photostore, or whatever. It's trickier."

Harry looked somewhat abashed and glanced over at Penelope Clearwater, who was sitting behind her workstation and looking more amused than upset, bless her. He opened his mouth to apologize and she shook her head.

"It's fine, Harry. I don't mind. It did take me a bit longer than normal," she admitted. "She wouldn't sit still long enough for the magic to take. Do you know how hard it is to make a photo stay put when they're determined to move? Worse than the portraits, even, because you can't reason with them." She shrugged and looked to Ron. "So, have you seen her too, then?"

Ron shook his head. "No. That's me, though, always last at everything, eh?" He smiled grimly at his joke and Penelope face fell in an expression of sympathy.

"That's not true, Ron," she murmured. She tried to look encouraging. "And anyhow, I'm sure you'll find her this time."

He pushed off from the wall and walked past Ginny, plucking the photo from her hands and examining the work for himself. Hermione – his Hermione – stared up at him, looking somewhat confused, but smiling just the same, with her hair done in a crop of short curls that haloed her head in the backlighting. He ghosted his fingers along it and she closed her eyes momentarily, still smiling up at him. He swallowed thickly and then thrust the picture back at Harry and Ginny. He turned a tight smile on Penelope.

"Thanks, Pen. I owe you one."

"It's ok," she said, smiling back sadly. "Don't worry about it."

Ron nodded and then turned to the door.

"I'm just going to get started on the paperwork for the fliers and questioning," he told Harry. "Gin, see you later. Thanks again, Pen."

Penelope lifted a hand in farewell, understanding perfectly. Ginny started to reply, but he was gone before she could say a word and she and Harry stared after him. Harry turned back to Penelope.

"He's right, I should get the appropriate permissions. This is it, right? We get one copy?"

"I have one more," Penelope said. She flushed some. "I was really only supposed to make one – department quotas and all. They monitor our specialty orders pretty closely, but I could see how hard it was for Ron…anyhow I made a second copy. I thought…he might like one," she finished, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

Ginny stopped from gathering her things up and looked at Penelope strangely. "Oh? That was sweet of you," she said cautiously. Penelope's cheeks turned an even brighter shade of pink.

"It was stupid of me, wasn't it?" she said in a rush. "But listen, just in case, if you think he might like it…here, go on and have it. Alright? Please, don't tell him I said that. I just…I see him a lot for work and he always looks so sad. I just thought…"

"No, it really is sweet of you," Ginny said softly, reassuringly. "I'll take it to him. Thank you, Penelope."

"Yes, thank you," Harry added.

"It was my pleasure," the other witch said. "Really, I'm happy to help. And Ginny, Harry…I hope you find her this time. I really, truly do. Let me know if I can help again. Anything at all, just say so."

Ginny smiled warmly and thanked her again and then followed Harry out the door and back up to his and Ron's office. She gave him a kiss outside the open doorway after tucking the additional photo in her bag.

"I'll wait until later, when we visit his flat," she said when Harry gave her a questioning glance. "I think he has enough on his mind, don't you?" she explained. Then she gave Harry another kiss. "I love you. Do everything properly – no shortcuts, alright? And I'll see you later to help out at the store, if you need me."

Harry nodded and smiled down at her. "Sounds good. And I promise, everything by the book. No chances this time, Ginny."

She smiled and waved, then started down the hall. Harry called after her. "And Ginny?"

She paused and turned back. He lifted a hand in a small, sweet wave. "I love you, too."

She hesitated, then laughed and called back to him. "I know!"

Harry watched her turn and walk away and then he entered the office to find Ron sitting there, staring down at his paperwork, his quill not moved an inch…and he rather thought Ginny had done the right thing, keeping the additional photo for now. He clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder and then shuffled the papers on his own desk.

"Ready to get to work, Ron?" he asked and his best mate looked up at him with a weak smile.

"Always," he said fervently, and though they both knew his response was forced, they each bent to their tasks with glad hands anyway.


	17. Chapter 16

**I don't own HP, all rights to JK and co, no profit made here.**

**AN: Finally, another chapter! I was so pleased with this one that I sat and laughed maniacally upon finishing it. I love myself. And I love you, sweet reviewers! Do tell me what you think, won't you?**

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><p>Jean woke up to the sound of a soft knocking. She shook her head slightly and pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes. The aching wasn't so bad as it had been those first few weeks outside her…captivity. Back then when she'd had a nightmare or an episode it had gone on for days. Maybe she was getting better…but no, hadn't she just had a bad turn a week or so ago? She shook her head again and then lifted it and called out.<p>

"I'm awake," she said and the door opened a crack.

"Jeannie, the doctor just wants to know if he could try to take another look at you before he goes."

She pressed her lips together and swallowed thickly. So. That's what had happened. She'd had a fit of some kind before the man could even ask her a few simple questions. She was bloody useless.

The door opened further and she straightened up, clenching her hands into fists upon her lap.

"Daniel," she murmured, willing her voice not to crack. He saw right through her, of course.

"Are you ok?" he asked her first, because it was easier than asking if she felt like jumping off a cliff or not. She knew. She closed her eyes briefly and felt him cross the room to sit on the edge of the bed. Their bed. Theirs, and yet he sat on the very edge, as if afraid of disturbing her.

She was so _fucking_ useless.

She opened her eyes and looked back at him evenly. "I'm ok. I guess he should. I'm sorry, Dan. Have I mucked everything up again?"

"No," he replied softly. "We needed to talk some anyhow. You were just…a bit stressed about it all, I imagine."

She looked at him, heard the hopefulness in his voice. He wanted it to just be stress. And so maybe it was. She'd never know, not with her spotty memory. She shrugged and leaned towards him and it was all the invitation he needed, though she didn't miss how reluctantly he moved over, the slight hesitation as he put his arms around her. As if he were afraid he might hurt her somehow. Surely that was it and not a fear that she might hurt him. She shivered and burrowed closer to him and he relaxed completely finally and pulled her near.

"Are you alright?" he asked again and she felt one of his hands go to her hair and stroke it softly. She frowned and thought.

"What happened?"

"You…what do you remember?"

He was holding something back from her, she could tell – then again, he was always holding something back from her. Normally it didn't bother her. After all, she needed him too much to let it bother her. She hoped he knew that, knew she needed him enough for nothing else to matter…and that it wasn't a need born of fear, either. She could have made it on her own, she thought. There were recourses for women who'd been abused, mistreated. For people who'd lost their memories. If she'd really had to, she could have struck out on her own. She could've stayed in Australia, where she was familiar with the people and customs, at least a little. Things wouldn't have been easy, no, and she would have lived in an even higher state of fear, but she could have made it. If there was one thing about which Daniel was right, it was her strength. She'd born so much for so long that she had to recognize it was either strength or some kind of magic. And as she didn't believe in magic…

She shrugged.

"He had a notebook? And he started to ask me something…about my day to day memory, I think. I started to reply and he ticked something off in his notebook." She thought for a moment. "Then…I think he must've felt warm, because he took his shirt sleeves and…" Her voice trailed off and her eyes glazed over and she felt Daniel take her by the shoulders and hold her away from him. It sounded as though he were calling to her from a long way away and she looked up at him, her eyes wide.

"Daniel?" she mouthed, but couldn't hear any sound coming out and it wasn't till a moment later, when she felt herself being crushed in his arms, that sound and sight came rushing back to her.

"Daniel," she mumbled. "Dan, I'm ok. I'm here."

"Jeannie? Oh, gods. You scared me. I'd never seen you do that before, you realize that? That was new, that was completely new. Mer…mercy, I was so frightened." He held her tightly a second longer and kissed the top of her head, then let her go. She sat apart from him for a moment, one hand in her hair, clutching at her skull like there was something inside it, just at the top, and if she could only just reach it…she looked back up at him.

"Daniel, yes. I think I had better speak to him again. If that's alright."

"You're sure?" he asked and she nodded.

"Yes. Dan, I'm getting better. I know I am. I feel it. But you're right, I need more help."

"Don't think of it that way, love. Think of it…it's more like talking to someone. He won't try any techniques until you say it's ok."

"Techniques?" she echoed, looking up at him. "You mean…like hypnosis, or something?"

He looked relieved. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean."

She considered it and nodded again. "I'm ok with that. Now, I'd better go out and introduce myself properly and…apologize, hadn't I?"

"I'll come with you this time," he said, standing up. She stood with him and he gave her a sharp glance. "That is, if it's ok?"

She paused in straightening her clothes and fought down a wave of irritability. He was solicitous of her, yes, and kind, but sometimes it only served to remind her more of her own faults. Her many faults. She took a deep breath and forced herself to smile instead of snap at him. He meant so well, after all. He was her hero. She more than needed him, she wanted him…so much.

"Yes, Dan," she said softly. "Of course it's alright. You…if it hadn't been for you…would he even be here?" Would we even be here, her eyes asked. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"I don't know, love," he murmured. He nodded towards the door. "Come on, then. I'm right here with you."

"I know," she replied softly, clasping his hand in both of hers. Then she walked from the dark bedroom with him.

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><p>Harry sat back in his seat and gave a frustrated sigh. "The trouble is that even if we post these all over Diagon Alley, we'll only have alerted the magical world, not the Muggles and if I'm right, if Ginny is right, and she's living out there somewhere as a Muggle, or her lookalike is, at any rate, then we really need to post fliers there, too."<p>

"Is that even legal?" Ron asked skeptically and Harry shrugged.

"When I was growing up I used to see fliers for all sorts of things – cats, dogs, bicycles, the occasional kidnapping. Just tacked on a lamppost or a board in a community center, like a church or the post office."

"So you think if we do that in the neighborhood of the grocery store where Ginny saw her…"

"I think it will give us more options," Harry replied. Ron gave it some thought, then picked up a memo and immediately scratched out a message. He folded it and waved his wand over it, sending it flying out the door.

"Pen's got a heavy schedule this week, what with that family missing last week, but she's the only witch I know who makes time for my requests anymore," he said, shooting a dirty look at Harry, even as he began filling out more forms.

Harry looked apologetic for once. "Sorry, Ron. I know partnering with me those first few years ruined your mobility."

"It's not promotions I care about, mate," Ron said, his expression softening. He sighed. "And truth be told, it's not even the job I care about anymore. It's the people. I miss having regular friends. I miss being asked to go along to the pub after work." He shook his head. "You're you and you've been so wrapped up in things and Ginny…you don't notice, or maybe you don't care, but when I've been trying to…get back to normal, at least, it's hard to do that when everyone treats you like you've the plague."

Harry looked pained and Ron felt terrible for speaking up at all. "Listen, I'm sorry mate. It's not your fault, really. 'S mine, for being a prat about the whole thing. You, you never apologize for how you've been over her...Hermione. You know? I think people prefer that, almost. Me, I feel like I'm walking on eggshells whenever they see me, and they don't know how to treat me because I haven't made myself clear. Not that I can make myself clear. Merlin, look at me. I say I'm trying to get over things and the minute you beg me for help I'm back onboard. I'm a bloody mess, Harry," he admitted in a moment of gut-wrenching honesty that made Harry feel worse than possibly anything else he'd put his friends through.

"Ron…if you're a mess, so are the rest of us," Harry said quietly. "No one has really gotten over anything. Five years seems like it should be all the time in the world to get over things, but we all know it isn't. We all know it's nothing compared to the fifty years we have left. Five years…what is that? It's nothing, Ron and everything is as clear as it was the day we stopped fighting. Just some of us have learned how to hide it better than others."

Ron looked up at Harry, his face haunted, circles under his eyes and Harry was struck that his best mate, the one who'd always been taller, stronger, funnier…was struggling. He was fighting a battle with every ounce of strength he had and he was losing. Harry reached over and rested a hand on Ron's.

"We'll find her, mate," he said. "I promise. We'll find her, one way or another."

"You said that last time, too," Ron replied. "So what happens if this turns out the same?"

"Then…I'll help you this time. We'll move on together," Harry said and it took every inch of courage he had left to mean it. Ron gave a small, disbelieving smile, then blinked and glanced back down at his paperwork. He moved his hand out from under Harry's and began shuffling things about again.

"Alright. I'll take these down for processing, but it's still going to take a week at least to get them through," he said, standing up. "You get started on the codes for permission to work with the Muggles. Merlin knows how long getting those through will take. We'll need measurements, the radius of that neighborhood. You know the Minister passed that measure on specific localities last year."

"Done," Harry said, lifting a hand in a wave as Ron gave him one last look before heading out the door.

He didn't start work on the codes immediately, though – despite knowing they had limited time. First he Owled Ginny and told her she'd better keep that picture of Hermione for a while yet. He somehow didn't think it – _hope_ – was something Ron needed in his life at that moment. Hope didn't help one get over things. Hope, at least the wrong sort, only prolonged suffering, and if there was one thing they were all going to see plenty of over the coming weeks, it was that.

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><p>"Mother!" Draco pushed back from his desk hastily and stood up to greet his mother properly as she barged into his office. Well, she didn't barge, exactly – as ever, Narcissa Malfoy entered with grace and style, but it may as well have been barging since he was definitely not expecting her.<p>

"Oh, sit down, Draco. There we are," she murmured, coming around his desk and gently pushing him back down into his chair as she kisses his cheeks. "Well, now. How are you doing?" she asked, settling herself opposite him once greetings were out of the way.

"I'm…well," he replied cautiously and she pulled off her gloves one finger at a time.

"Are you? I suppose that's why you have circles under your eyes and are seeing Theo twice a week."

Draco frowned. He should've known. Of course someone would notice him speaking with Theo – and of course someone would notice his schedule and decide it was worthy of idle gossip. He said as much and Narcissa smiled enigmatically.

"But you are seeing him."

"If that's what you call an evening playing cards with an old friend, yes, I am."

"So you aren't just pumping him for information about Astoria?" Narcissa asked, smoothing her gloves out in her lap. Draco sighed.

"No, mother. That relationship is definitely over for good. I doubt we could even be friends now…that is, if I wanted to be friends, which I don't. Not until she gets over things."

"Then…is there another reason you're spending so much time with him? He isn't…perhaps…" She hesitated and looked at her son, who looked right back at her, unblinking. Her sigh mirrored his. "Does Daphne have anything to worry about?" she asked outright and Draco blinked at that, then burst out laughing a moment later. Narcissa watched him snicker behind a hand and sniffed disdainfully.

"Draco, I'm just trying to understand…"

"No, Mother. I promise Theo and I are not planning on running away together. He's _just_ my friend and after the trip I felt the need for some company. I've been a bit isolated lately – don't tell me you haven't noticed, otherwise you wouldn't be in here now, asking awkward questions."

Narcissa leveled a piercing look at Draco and her lips drew into a thin line.

"I don't see what's so awkward about a mother being concerned about her son's choices."

"I can remember a time you didn't seem very concerned at all," he shot back and immediately regretted it. "Mother, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"Yes, you did," she said stiffly and stood up, gathering her handbag under one arm as she started angrily tugging on her gloves. "And that's my cue to leave you to your precious work."

She paused and looked about his Muggle office in the Muggle corporation for which he was liaison and sniffed again.

"I do wish you'd at least let me decorate this horrid place for you," she said in quite a different tone of voice, masking her hurt and anger as she always did – good Malfoy that she was. Draco stood as well and walked around his desk to her.

"Mother, I am sorry," he murmured, taking her hands. She let him and looked him in the face – her beautiful, strong son who'd seen so much…she leaned forward and kissed his cheeks again and he returned the gesture gladly.

"Come see us soon, Draco. Your father and I miss you."

"I will, Mother. I miss you, too. And as you can probably tell, I could use a break."

"Come over the weekend, then," she pressed him. "Have a short holiday."

"I would, only…"

He'd begun to fidget imperceptibly and Narcissa looked him in the eyes.

"What is it, darling? Too much? Then just come for dinner."

"It's only that I…"

There was a knock on his office door.

"Daniel? There's someone here to see you," came his assistant's voice. There was a teasing quality to it and Draco froze and looked from the door to his mother, eyes wide.

Narcissa was nonplussed. "Well, go on, darling. Answer it. I'm on my way out anyhow. Just do Owl about dinner this weekend, yes? Oh, what do I call you in front of these people, again…" she went on; focused on making sure her gloves were on snugly.

"Daniel," Draco supplied breathlessly and Narcissa glanced at him.

"Of course. Your assistant just said that. Silly me. Well, Daniel. Do…write. I love you, darling."

"I love you too, Mother," he said automatically…and watched as she opened the door to his office and stepped out only to find herself face-to-face with the woman who used to be Hermione.

"Hello, Jeannie," he said weakly.

Then he waited for all hell to break loose.

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><p><strong>AN: MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA! ;)<strong>


	18. Chapter 17

**I don't own any part of the HP franchise. All rights to JK, Warner Bros, Scholastic and co. **

**AN: Ah ha! So, finally, another chapter. Sorry it was so long in the making. As I said recently...tumblr. I plead tumblr, your honor. Guys, go destroy tumblr so that I can actually finish these stories. Blergh. I hope you enjoy! Sorry for that last cliffhanger! **

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><p>Jeannie blinked her wide brown eyes at Narcissa for a moment and then smiled at Draco.<p>

"I can wait out here if you need a few more minutes," she said tentatively and Draco glanced at his mother.

Narcissa couldn't take her eyes off the woman standing in front of her. She spoke to Draco from the corner of her mouth.

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact…I just recalled something. I'd like a minute more, if that's acceptable, Daniel?"

"Certainly," he said, but he managed to recover himself. "Why don't I walk you downstairs? We can talk on the way."

At that Narcissa snapped back around to face him, but whatever protest she'd been about to make died on her lips when she saw the look in her son's eyes. "That would be lovely," she said stiffly. She turned back to Jean, who quickly moved out of the way. Narcissa swept out of the office and paused to wait for Draco, who stopped to speak to the woman. She caught a quick glance at them and saw him with his hand on her arm in a most…intimate gesture. It was hard to imagine them for anything other than what they appeared – a man speaking to his girlfriend, explaining interrupted plans.

"Daniel, please," she tutted, interrupting them further. "I don't have all afternoon and I'm sure you're eager to make your lunch date," she said with a pointed look at the woman. What had he called her..._Jeannie_. How very Muggle. The woman stared back at Narcissa with those bright eyes and looked apologetic. Narcissa felt strangely sorry for her and relented some. "I'm sorry I haven't time for formal introductions, my dear. Perhaps next time, Daniel?"

"Oh, er, yes," he said, and with another glance and a low whisper to his friend, he ushered his mother through the office and down the corridor. They didn't talk at all – not that he had expected they would – and it was only once he'd taken her to an appropriately private Disapparating point that she said anything. He stood there, watching her think as she secured her gloves one last time. Then she turned to face him slowly.

"Draco…are you dating…a Muggle?"

Draco couldn't tell if his mother was horrified, or titillated, or strangely ok with it all. The way she'd said the word…it was hard to tell much of anything and he felt that old, familiar panic flair up. He struggled for words, knowing the longer he stood there dumbfounded, the worse off he would be.

"Not…d-dating, exactly," he managed to stammer and Narcissa's jaw dropped. It was the first time, he realized, that he'd ever seen his mother utterly gobsmacked.

"Well if you aren't dating her then you're either paying her or living with her. I can't decide which is worse," she said shortly and he frowned.

"This is exactly why I didn't say anything," he said, feeling anger overwhelm his confusion. "I knew you'd react this way – Merlin, Mother, it's been years! Can't you just get over this ridiculous prejudice?"

"Excuse me, I'm trying, Draco! But you make it very difficult when you insist on never doing anything by halves. You've always been this way, ever since you were a little boy – it's always all in or nothing at all – well, excuse me for having decades more of prejudice to just get over, as you so succinctly put it! I am still you mother, Draco," she finished in a low voice.

He immediately felt bad, but not enough that he would back down. He heard what she was saying, he knew how difficult things were for her, but he had someone else to think about now. Narcissa seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts in that uncanny way all mothers have and her own frown softened.

"Let us meet her, Draco," she said. "You could bring her to dinner this weekend."

"Mother…" he began, as if to say, that will never, ever happen. She hurried on.

"Or we could meet you for dinner elsewhere – or come to your flat. There's plenty of room for a small dinner party there."

"You would know, you did help decorate," he remarked and she arched a brow at him.

"You needed help. Cinderblocks and Muggle packing boxes are not furniture."

"I was going for a Japanese style. You know, sitting on the floor?" he joked and she cracked the smallest of smiles. Her manner grew serious and he shoved his hands in his pockets, expecting the final shoe to drop.

"Whether you come for dinner, or have us over…we will need to speak soon, Draco," she murmured. He stiffened and eyed a speck on a nearby wall. It was a tiny spider, crawling merrily on its way to secure some food, no doubt. He watched it make its way slowly along the wall, pausing to test the air every few seconds, going carefully despite there being nothing around to threaten it – except, of course, himself and his mother. He glanced back at her.

"Will we?" he asked and she nodded once.

"I'm not a fool, Draco. I have eyes the same as anyone."

He held his breath, certain that she would reveal his secret now, and gave a start when she gently laid a hand on his arm.

"You're in love with her," she said instead and his brows drew together in confusion.

"I…what?"

"I'm your mother, Draco, and it's plain as day you love that little Muggle girl." She gave him a soft, sad smile. "You know, when I first saw her, I fancied she looked like someone I knew, one of your school friends, perhaps? But…maybe that's what drew you to her." She patted his arm. "Darling, I have to get back, but please, Floo or Owl us soon about having dinner."

Draco managed to find his voice. "I will, Mother." He went on quickly. "I won't bring Jeannie to the Manor, though. I'm sorry, it isn't…it's only that she doesn't know."

Narcissa stopped short and stared at Draco. "You haven't…she doesn't realize what you are?"

"No. She actually…it's complicated. Listen, Mother, if I did – and it's not going to happen anytime soon –" and was likely to never happen, "but if I did invite you and Father for dinner you'd have to swear not to say a word."

Narcissa eyed her son a moment more and then gave his arm a last, reassuring pat. Her smile was strained. "Of…course, Draco," she said hesitantly. "Now, don't worry about me or your father. I won't say a word to him as yet. Just fit us into that busy schedule of yours, alright?"

"I will, Mother," he repeated as he bent to accept her kiss to his cheek.

She popped out of sight a second later and he stared at the spot where she'd been. A small movement caught his eye and he refocused on the little spider, which had frozen in place at the magic performed. It cautiously lifted its front legs and felt at the air.

"You and me both, my friend," he muttered. At the sound of his voice it froze again, then scurried away quicker than he could blink. He smiled bemusedly before his conversation with his mother invaded his mind again and then he sighed. Had she been having him on? Or did she genuinely not see the resemblance the same as anyone else would? He supposed it was possible. After all, his mother had stayed as far out of politics as possible the last several years. But even then, she would've seen the newspaper articles, would've seen the posters plastered along Diagon Alley, begging for information. Maybe, he thought, it was just possible that she was so surprised at what she'd first seen and it had been such a long time, that her recognition hadn't truly registered.

Whatever. He blew out a sigh again and shook his head. Whether she recognized Jean or not, whether she guessed at what was going on or not, she wouldn't say anything. He knew that about his mother. For better or for worse, she'd keep his secret…and unlike Theo, who would tell when the going got tough, his mum would never let on to a single soul without his say. So, there was literally nothing he could do, or even needed to do at the moment. He might as well keep his original lunch date. Raking a hand through his hair, he turned and started back up to his office and to Jeannie, the Muggle girl with whom he was in love.

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><p>Lucius Malfoy heard the clear pop of his wife's return and stepped from his study into the hall. "Narcissa?" he called down the long passageway and a minute later he heard the steady clicking of her heels on the marble floors. She came into view, just unpinning her hat and he smiled at her.<p>

"How was your visit to our wayward son?" he asked teasingly and she shot him a prim, dark look. He raised a brow. "That bad?"

Narcissa swept past him and into the study and he closed the door behind her before heading to the sideboard to pour her a drink.

"Care to tell me about it or shall I make guesses until you hex me?"

"I may hex you anyhow," she murmured, accepting the tall finger of scotch. Lucius smiled tightly and took the seat behind his desk again, carefully rearranging his papers so that she'd have a place to set her glass. She ignored the gesture and remained standing, pacing before the fireplace with her glass in hand. He waited for her to speak – he signed a few more forms, filed several letters and bills, and was about to begin work on his personal library's catalogue again when she finally decided to break the silence.

"This is all your fault," she started out and he lifted a brow again and sighed.

"Yes, I know."

"It is, Lucius, don't tease me – if you hadn't pushed him so hard over all those ridiculous measures after the war was over he wouldn't have reacted the way he did and you know it!"

"And how did he react, hmm? It seems to me he became a very successful businessman. I couldn't ask for more."

"In a Muggle corporation!"

"No, he's the vice president in a wizarding corporation that's outsourced to Muggle companies. There's a difference darling, and you're well aware of it. Now are you going to tell me what's really bothering you or will just keep rehashing the same old arguments even though they don't make you feel any better?"

Narcissa paused, contemplated her drink, and downed the remainder of it. She turned back to her husband, who vanished the glass from her hands before she could throw it. Her face fell and she held out her hands to him.

"Darling, he's seeing a Muggle girl!"

Lucius paused in mid wand stroke, his jaw open in astonishment. "Well," he murmured, finally lowering his wand. "I must admit I wasn't expecting that."

"Neither was I," Narcissa replied with a soft sob of frustration before collapsing into a chair. Her husband eyed her.

"There's something more."

"Which would you prefer first?" she asked him and he pressed his lips together.

"I'm assuming they are equally dire pieces of news, otherwise you wouldn't be fighting tears. Tell me, my love," he ended softly.

She lifted her eyes to his and gave a shuddering sigh. "They're living together. She has no idea he's a wizard. And…oh, Lucius, I'm so worried."

"Why?" he asked with that same gentle persistence. She cast her gaze away, at a spot on the carpet only she could see. Lucius imagined it was the stain of every wrong choice they'd ever made – the stain of how they'd ruined their son's childhood. He knew, because he saw it too, everywhere they went in this damned house.

Lucius Malfoy would never admit it to anyone, but he was proud of his son's choices. He was happy Draco was working with Muggles – he could even be happy he was seeing a Muggle girl. It meant his son had a chance at redemption. As for himself and his wife, it was too late for them. They loved their son and had sworn to support him in whatever he did now – even if they didn't like it – and that was as much as they could give towards the 'bright new future' the Ministry so eagerly pushed upon them all.

Now he looked at his wife – his beautiful, beloved, tired wife – and asked her to go on.

"Please, tell me. Waiting won't make it go away."

She slumped down in her seat, looking as unladylike as she had the first time he'd ever seen her in the Slytherin common room, back in their school days. He smiled fondly and raised his glass to savor the aged scotch. She finally waved a hand and choked the words out.

"She looks like the Granger girl."

Lucius stopped everything. The glass that was halfway to his lips practically slipped from his fingers and he set it down with a hard clunk on his desktop.

"How much of a resemblance is there?" he managed to ask after a moment. She shrugged and picked at the upholstery of the armchair.

"How well do you remember her?"

"Not very," he admitted. "Even having met her several times."

"Even after those ridiculous questionings upon her disappearance, yes," Narcissa said. "It's the same for me. I couldn't describe her very well to you, but even so, the way this girl looked – it was the first thing I thought of."

"Which means the resemblance is –"

"Quite large, yes," Narcissa finished. She sighed and straightened up. "Well. Sighing about it won't get us anywhere, I suppose. Thank you for the drink, darling. Now that you know the worst of it, what is there to be done?"

"We'll have to meet her, of course," Lucius replied, fingering his glass of scotch again and peering at it as if he could divine the future. "Did Draco…"

"He's in love with her," she said. Lucius glanced at her and she stared right back at him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked back at his scotch and then finished it in one swallow. Setting the glass back down, he exhaled noisily.

"Well, my darling," he said. "In that case we'll definitely have to meet her."

Narcissa made a small, disagreeable noise and stood up. She smoothed out her skirt and jacket. "My thoughts exactly, Lucius." Turning on her heel, she went to the door and opened it. She looked back at her husband. "Dinner is at eight. I have some shopping to do. I'll be back at six."

Then she left him, her hat floating out of the study after her. Lucius eyed the hatpins she'd left behind and sent them whizzing out as well with a flick of his wrist. He looked to his empty glass, considered everything his wife had just told him and all the implications thereof, and with another flick of his wrist a second finger, even more generous finger of scotch appeared in the glass.

* * *

><p>"Where do you want to go?" Draco asked Jeannie as he walked through the open door of his office to grab his coat. Jeannie was settled in the swivel chair behind his desk, turning in lazy circles. He smiled at her.<p>

"Wherever," she replied and leaned her head back, sticking out her tongue at him.

"Careful where you stick that thing," he said.

"Why's that?"

"Because someone's liable to find it irresistible," he said and pounced on her. She laughed and accepted his kiss with only a little struggling. When he pulled away she was flushed a healthy pink.

"The door is open," she whispered and he glanced over at it before looking back at her. He was leaned over the chair, pinning her in it, keeping her from spinning.

"So it is," he murmured and leaned in for another kiss. When he broke away that time her cheeks were red.

"Daniel…" she began and he laughed and straightened up.

"Alright, get up, you," he said and she smiled again and stood with his help. She smoothed her own coat and skirt down as he shrugged into his – though they hardly needed them as the weather was finally beginning to turn for the better – and then took his arm when he offered it.

"So, where to?" she asked. He glanced at her as they left his office and he locked the door behind him. He waved to his assistant, who cast a sly look between them, then escorted Jean down to the elevators, where he settled his hands on her waist and planted several more kisses on her. Only once they were in the elevator, alone, did conversation recommence.

"I thought maybe that new bistro that opened up on Marylebone," he said, taking her hand and peppering small kisses along the back of it before turning it over and laying an open mouthed kiss on her palm. She shivered and freed her hand in order to hook them both about his neck. He swung an arm around her waist and accepted a few more heated kisses.

"Is this bistro near our flat?" she asked suspiciously and he growled and claimed her mouth for a minute more.

"It might be," he admitted when the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. They filtered out past some waiting businessmen and women, Jean taking his arm demurely as ever. He squeezed her close and was pleased to see she hadn't stopped smiling or blushing since he'd returned to his office moments before.

"I have an extra hour for lunch today," he added. "Squeezed it in because I thought you might enjoy…taking our time."

She gave him a wry look that told him she had his number and he grinned at her, unable to help himself.

"Sorry," he said, and she knew he wasn't sorry at all. She shook her head, a smile still on her lips, and slid her arm along his to grasp his hand in hers. She swung her arm a bit and he was content to swing hands with her as they walked along the street, not intent on catching a cab just yet.

"So…was she your…older sister?" she asked cautiously and Draco laughed aloud. He glanced down at her. He'd been expecting the questions far sooner than this, to be honest, and he felt more than calm enough to deal with them now.

"Hardly. That was my mother," he said and Jean cast a quick look up at him before focusing on the pavement again. The smell of the blossoming trees they passed enticed her to look up and she grinned again as a few flower petals floated down into their path. She caught one and rolled it between her fingers, releasing more of its scent.

"Your mother," she repeated thoughtfully. "And you are planning on introducing me at some point?"

"I am," he lied easily. "Just not today. She popped over unexpectedly, wants me to stop ignoring her and my old man."

"Did she invite you home?"

"She did," he replied and his easy tone changed subtly. He looked down at her again. She was staring straight ahead, a pleasant, carefree look upon her face. He wondered at the change in her some days…

"And will you go?"

"And leave you alone for the weekend?"

She hesitated and then spoke, but her confidence was forced. He wondered if he'd said the wrong thing.

"I'd be perfectly alright," she said. "Why, I only have a therapy session with the doctor this weekend and otherwise I could stay in, keep the door locked…only stray as far as the grocer's. Although I'm getting better at being out," she added. He had to agree.

"You are. Came all the way to my office on your own, didn't you. Which is why I figured a quick lunch at the bistro followed by an hour back at the flat would be fitting."

"What, like a reward?" she said dryly and he shrugged and squeezed her hand.

"Not really, unless it's a reward for both of us."

"Daniel, don't be stupid," she said and he stopped short, staying her as well. She turned to face him and he looked down at her seriously.

"Listen to me, Jeannie," he said. "I worry about you every second of every day. The thought of you being out here, in this huge city all by yourself terrifies me – and it would do whether you had your memories or not. I love you, remember? So yes, if I want to take you to bed over my lunch hour as a reward for surviving letting you out of my sight for even a few hours then I think that's my right."

Jeannie wasn't sure whether to be flattered or appalled. She settled on understanding and ran her hands down his coat front before grabbing them and pulling him close. People were moving all around them, bustling to lunch and from lunch, to work and to home and to play, but she stood on tiptoe and kissed him solidly on the mouth anyway.

"I love you too," she said. "And I think we should just skip the bistro altogether, except my doctor said I need to eat more."

"Bugger him," Draco groaned and held her close, kissing her again. Jeannie pulled away after several seconds and Draco leaned his head against hers, his breath coming short. "What you do to me," he muttered and Jean felt her heart flutter high in her chest.

"What I do is bother you and love you," she said, stepping from his embrace and taking his hand again. "And you are going to visit your parents this weekend, and tell them all about me because I'm sure your mother will having nothing but questions, and then when you think I'm ready you'll introduce me properly."

"You aren't mad?" he asked suddenly and his tone was so like that of the wheedling, uncertain little boy that Jean couldn't help stretching up to land another kiss on his cheek.

"Never," she said. "Worried, apprehensive, prone to panic attacks and slightly mental, but never mad at you, Daniel. Only at myself, really."

Draco looked down at her and stumbled over his own feet in an effort to plant yet another kiss on her lips, to wipe away the suddenly sad, self-loathing expression there. She laughed despite herself and shoved him away, though their hands were still clasped. He grinned and tried again.

"Dan!" she exclaimed and they continued to trip down the pavement, teasing one another in the bright noonday light.

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><p><strong>AN: And so more strands are woven in. Where will it all lead? Dun dun duuuuun!<strong>


	19. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the HP franchise, all rights to JK Rowling, WB, and Scholastic. I only own parts of the plot here. Intellectual property ftw! **

**AN: Wow, it's been so long since I wrote a disclaimer I had to stop and think about what to say. Anyhow, here's the next chapter in this story, for all who had begun to despair ever seeing an update. Take that! Oh, and...I hope you like it. -is very, very hopeful- **

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><p>"Daniel, just go," Jean said, placing both hands on his chest and giving him a shove towards the door. He caught her about the waist and pulled her close.<p>

"Ah ha," he said, "can't wait to be rid of me, I see how it is…"

"Dan, that isn't it," she said wryly, but accepted his kisses anyhow. She smirked and straightened his lapels. "You look quite handsome. Are you sure it's just going to be you and your parents tonight?"

He smiled and kissed her again. "Positive. Stop worrying. My mother doesn't dislike you – she doesn't even know you. She's certainly not going to try and come between us without having even formed an opinion."

Jean looked up at him uncertainly before smacking his chest playfully. "I know that, Dan. Me, worried? I'm not the one who refuses to keep a dinner appointment because he's so terrified I'll get eaten by the flat while he's away."

"Not the flat, no," he replied and then held her close. She rested her head on his shoulder and he sighed.

"Listen, I'm sorry I didn't offer to take you with me, Jeannie. I know it bothers you…"

"It doesn't bother me," she tried to protest, but he shook his head.

"I know it does. And I promise that as soon as I think it's safe, I will…"

"Dan." The plaintive quality of her voice stopped him and he pulled away to look her in the eyes. There was a small furrow between her brows. "Dan, you think he's still out there?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "And that's why, if anything happens tonight, you call me. Ted will be by at the usual time, but other than him, I don't want you to let anyone in this flat. And please, don't go anywhere. Promise me. At least…not without leaving a note, and…texting me. No, call me first. Then text me once you've gotten there and once you're back. Ok?"

Jean smiled sadly. "You still don't really trust me."

"Jean, that's not what I mean. It's him, it's the possibility that he's still alive…" Not to mention that the Weasley woman was out there, too, and had actually spoken to her. The idea that they might blow the entire thing wide open without even a chance of her healing properly – or him getting to explain himself, the very thought of which shamed him – sent him into a panic.

She shook her head. "It's alright, Dan. I know what you mean. And I agree. I don't trust me, either."

He looked at her for a long moment, his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Jeannie," he finally murmured and she shrugged and then hugged him again. She kissed his cheeks.

"Go," she said. "I'll call if I go out."

"You have your phone, the ringer's on?" he asked and she nodded emphatically.

"I know how to work my new phone, Dan," she said. "_Go_." But she was smiling and waving as she said it and he finally waved back and then left, closing the door behind him. She went to it immediately and pressed her ear to it, one hand hovering over the latches.

"Jeannie," he called and she smiled again.

"I'm locking it now," she said. "Bye. Have a nice dinner. I love you!"

"Love you too," came his muffled response and then she could hear him walking down the hall to the lifts.

She turned and walked back to the kitchen to have a light supper and then prepare the tea things for Ted's visit – rather, her therapy session. She worked with a small smile on her face as she remembered her first, proper introduction to Dr. Nott – the one after the incident the night of his first visit.

"Jeannie, meet…Theodore – _Ted_ Nott," Daniel had said, hesitating slightly before naming the other man. Ted had glanced at Daniel with a funny look in his eyes before turning to her and shaking her outstretched hand. His shirt sleeves were still rolled up, exposing his lean forearms that were bare but for a dusting of hair. She'd shaken his hand with as much graciousness as she could muster, but her lips were pressed together tightly. Ted had noticed, of course.

"Something's the matter," he'd said after a moment, with the uncanny sense of a trained psychologist.

She'd given a quick shake of her head. "No…well, it's only that…you don't seem like a Ted to me."

Daniel had glanced between the two of them and laughed uneasily. "What, you know one another already?"

Jean had shrugged and smiled apologetically. "No – no, I'm sorry. It was just a fancy of mine. You know how I am, Dan." Then she'd taken Daniel's arm and stuck close to him the rest of the evening while they'd discussed her situation and possible treatment.

Thinking back on it now, something struck her. Daniel never made light of her possible memories – the moments just like that one, where something stuck out in her mind, or seemed unusual. And yet that evening he'd laughed about it and she'd apologized and they'd continued on to other conversation, effectively ignoring her funny feeling about the doctor's name…

The microwave timer beeped and she shook herself from her pondering to open the door and carefully pull her bowl of soup from inside. She set it on the island and stirred it a few times, smelling its rich, tomato and basil aroma wafting through the air before taking a cautious spoonful.

"Perfect," she murmured. Her appetite had grown some in the past weeks – whether from her sessions or simply more time put between her and what she now thought of as her captivity – but simple foods still tempted her best; and especially on nights like this, when Daniel was working late and she was left to eat alone.

She set her spoon down and decided to hunt in the cupboard for crackers to munch as well. Finding a box of some plain, unsalted ones she tugged them off the shelf and set them on the counter. Idly, she pulled the box open and drew a cracker out, popping it in her mouth as she looked through the cupboard again. I'll need some biscuits for afters and tea anyhow, she thought. Might as well pull that box down now too.

Her hand closed over an empty space as she eyed the box of crackers again, plucking another tasty wafer from its depths and she glanced up. Where was the box of biscuits? Had they…were they out of them already? She stood on tiptoe and peered into the cupboards limited depths and frowned. Sure enough, not a box of biscuits in sight. She blew out a sigh and munched absentmindedly on another cracker.

"Bugger," she mumbled. She must have eaten them all…she blushed. Of course, she had. Just yesterday, while Daniel had been late at work again. She'd sat in front of the telly with the biscuits, watching a terrible romantic comedy about a heart transplant patient – ok, it had been wonderful actually and she'd cried quite a bit –and before she'd realized she'd gone through the remainder of the box, her fingers finding only chocolaty crumbs at the bottom of it.

She frowned again. Blast it all, she _was_ eating better if she'd gone through all those biscuits. Well…not better, exactly. Just more. She raised a brow and lifted another cracker to her lips, then gasped and looked down at the box in front of her. Not the crackers, too! Lord, what was Daniel going to think? She hadn't gained any weight, had she? Well, she was going to if she kept this up. Nodding smartly, Jean closed the box of crackers up and set it back on the shelf, then turned back to her soup. She hastily slurped the rest of it down, ignoring how it burned her tongue, and then grabbed a light jacket and her wallet and keys. She was going to need to buy some biscuits and crackers, it looked like. She left her bowl and spoon on the counter – she could do up the dishes once she got back – and then turned off the lights and swept out the door, taking care to lock it behind her.

* * *

><p>Ginny lingered in the pasta and grains aisle. It was always the final stop on her hunt for Hermione's look alike during these many unnecessary trips to the market for the past two weeks. Picking up yet another box of wholegrain pasta, she scanned an ingredients label she was positive she'd read before and attempted to look nonchalant. She was sure the clerk who'd asked her twice already if she needed help thought she was about to shoplift something, but she ignored his wary glances in favor of setting down that particular box and picking up a bag of rice instead. She was about to actually set it in her shopping basket when she heard the voice that was familiar and yet foreign – the voice she'd been dying to hear again for two weeks straight. The one that was so like her friend's…and so unlike her that to hear it the first time had hurt more than she'd even been able to tell Harry.<p>

But Harry probably guessed as much.

Turning slowly so as not to attract anymore unwanted attention, Ginny continued to put the rice into her basket and then headed cautiously down the aisle towards the voice. Hermione's clear tones – no, not Hermione's, a stranger's, really – were joined by a man's and lifted some in an expression of delight. Ginny hesitated and then peered around the corner curiously whilst pretending to inspect some packages of crisps. She searched for Hermione – no, not Hermione. She searched for the stranger, Jean, she'd called herself, and picked her out easily. A second later, though, her eyes were widening and she was nearly dropping the crisps the same way the pasta had tumbled from her hands upon their first meeting. Who was that with the woman? It couldn't possibly be…no. It simply wasn't possible that Muggle London held doppelgängers of every member of the Wizarding world, was it? That or she was going mad.

Coincidences existed, sure, but this was too much. She ducked back behind the shelf and tried to listen in on the conversation with one ear, but it wasn't any use. Still, her memory was sharp and her eyes were good and if this wasn't the proof Harry and Ron had been searching for, well. She'd eat her blasted wedding robes, she would. Face pale and pinched, she hurried down the aisle and towards a better vantage point for spying and a safer distance for following the unsuspecting…couple? No, acquaintances…but it was enough for her. Ginny peered around another corner and got a better look at them. Oh, yes, she thought to herself. Harry and Ron will be very interested, indeed in Healer Nott's association with one Miss Jean Mains.

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><p>Jean couldn't help her exclamation of delight when she spotted Ted over the spargel.<p>

"Ted! What on earth are you doing here?"

"Jean!" Theo responded, a smile quickly pasted on his face, but his manner anything but comfortable. She lifted her sparkling hazel eyes to his and smiled in return, entirely guileless. Merlin, he thought. No wonder I always feel like a complete heel around her. Is this how Draco feels all the time, I wonder?

He shoved his free hand in his pocket and lifted his basket, swinging it a little to draw her attention. "Caught me, I'm afraid," he said. Jean's smile faded as she took in the flowers in his basket, but a moment later it was back in place.

"Ted, those aren't for me," she said and he gave her a genuine grin, apologetic though it was.

"Afraid so," he said. "You've seemed a bit down lately. Not unhappy," he went on quickly, "just quiet."

The curve of her smile grew sardonic. "Withdrawn, pensive, troubled?" she added in a cool voice. "I know what you've been saying to Daniel, Ted. About me." Her voice took on an eager cast. "But I promise, I'm alright. I've only been quiet because I'm trying so hard to remember something, anything. You understand that."

"Yes, but remember what I said? You can't push yourself so hard. That's exactly what you shouldn't be doing. The more you dwell on it, the more you run the risk of –" He stopped abruptly. "Well, in any case, I wanted to bring you something this evening, especially since Daniel's abandoned you yet again," he finished, dangling the basket before her again.

She shrugged and tilted her head. "That doesn't really bother me," she admitted, though she wasn't about to tell Ted it was partly because of how irritating the constant attendance, the kindness she felt she didn't deserve, and the cautionary measures were becoming. She cleared her throat a little. Besides, it was only part of the truth. She dared express the other half to Ted now. "I was alone for so long…the quiet is almost pleasant. Normal," she added. "I think that, whoever I was before, I must have liked peace and quiet a great deal."

Theo fidgeted some, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation and with being out in public, so exposed. He couldn't let himself forget that this was still a dangerous business, what he and Draco were involved in: the rehabilitation of this single witch could turn against them so quickly and with such ferocity that neither would know what had hit them until they were secure in Azkaban, the Dementors' kisses sealing their fates. He put a hand on her shoulder and urged her around, towards the checkout with him.

"That's certainly something we can discuss," he said calmly, "but not here. Come on, let's get you home. I'm itching to get started."

Jean laughed a little and Theo felt more at ease, though he still hurried them along. The back of his neck had begun prickling a few seconds before, like it had during the war. Like it had when he'd finally been on the run, driven to hiding by people he'd trusted once, always looking over his shoulder, certain he was being watched. He wondered that Jean didn't feel it, but then she was so completely unaware of her former life that it wasn't really a surprise. Still, it wasn't until they were checked out and on their way down the sidewalk that he felt the tense set of his shoulders relax. Beside him, Jean chattered on, blissfully unaware of the danger Theo was certain they'd been in. He missed the way her hands gripped her shopping bag so tightly, or the pinched corners of her eyes as she kept them trained on the pavement before them, so well trained in hiding her feelings that not even Lord Voldemort himself would have seen her inner terror.

Only a familiar pair of brown eyes, framed by delicate lashes and a sprinkling of freckles saw her distress; and it took all of Ginny's willpower not to run after the pair of them then and there and tell her everything. The small witch turned and leaned against a shelf, her legs trembling, her heart racing with this sudden news. Hermione was alive. She was alive and she was well, but for one thing.

She had no idea who she was.

Ginny passed a hand over her eyes weakly and then found her resolve. Straightening up, she quickly replaced the items in her basket on the shelf and then left the store, just in time to see her friend and Theo cross the street. Ginny didn't have to think twice. She pulled her coat up about her neck, looked both ways, and followed.


	20. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the HP franchise, all rights to blah blah blah. I own only parts of the plot. xD**

**AN: TA-DA.**

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><p>Draco ran a hand over his face for the fifth time, in a manner unbecoming the five star dining atmosphere. His other fixed a sharp look on him and he glanced away over the restaurant, as if looking for their waiter.<p>

"Of course I'm right," Narcissa was saying. "You should've brought her. You're not giving me or your father enough credit. If you love this girl –"

"Love?" he asked, interrupting her. "I never said a word –"

"Draco, darling, I'm your mother. Do you really think I can't tell when my only son is in love?"

Lucius broke in before his son could say something he'd regret. "Draco, all your mother means is that it's obvious this woman is important to you and we don't want to be shut out of your life anymore."

"Even if she is a Muggle," Narcissa added. Lucius sighed under his breath as storm clouds gathered on Draco's brow once again.

"She's not 'even' anything, Mother. She's a human being, the same as me. The same as any of us." He glanced away again. "We're not staying for dessert," he said and it was more a resignation than a question. Narcissa frowned lightly.

"Lucius, you say something. He obviously thinks I don't care," she said.

"He doesn't think either of us cares," Lucius said evenly and he signaled their waiter, who nodded and hurried off for the bill. Draco lifted a hand to rub his face again, seemed to think better of it, and looked at his father.

"I know you care," he argued. "But I also know what your caring has entailed in the past, and the situation is delicate. Too delicate for either of you to –"

"She's pregnant, isn't she?" Narcissa blurted out and Draco paled.

"Merlin, Mother!" he gasped and she looked uncomfortable.

"Draco, it's only natural to assume that, what with your living arrangement. And anyway, is she?"

"Even if she were it wouldn't have any bearing here."

"A baby changes everything, son," Lucius said. Draco's eyes flashed.

"I think you mean if she were pregnant with your grandchild you'd feel differently about her being a Muggle."

There was a tense silence and then Narcissa muttered, "Oh, for – how long are we going to keep up this pretense?"

"I thought things were going rather well," Lucius murmured, leaning near her. Draco stared between his parents, confused, and absentmindedly signed for the bill when it arrived at their table. He took an extra second to put his wallet away and gather his thoughts – and only one thing made his mother's remark make any sense. He finally lifted his gaze back to them and spoke quietly, his expression rather pinched.

"You recognized her." It was directed at Narcissa, who patted her mouth dry after a last sip of wine, but Draco seemed to wait patiently for a response.

"I'd have to be blind not to," she finally admitted and Draco let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He tried to think how he could spin it, if he even could salvage their recognition of his beloved Jean, but his father spoke next.

"Draco," he said slowly, "whatever this is, we're in it with you." Lucius looked as uncomfortable as Narcissa had a moment before. "Until the bitter end," he finished stiffly, but his eyes were kind as they swept over his son. Draco felt heat rise to his cheeks and he cleared his throat. His next words astonished his parents.

"No," he said. "You're not. I can't allow that. This…is my problem." He took a deep breath. "Whatever you think this is, I promise you that it isn't what it seems. And I don't need any help. I don't want help."

"What do you want?" Lucius asked smoothly. "Forever? A life with her? Do you honestly think anyone will let you have those things, Draco?"

"I can't let anyone else get involved!" he said sharply, ignoring the question. Narcissa felt Lucius take her hand and grip it tightly and then the older wizard spoke again, his voice low.

"Or perhaps I should have said, do you honestly think anyone will let you have those things if you _don't_ let us in?"

Draco was so startled he forgot to breathe for the long seconds where he just stared at his father, mouth agape. Narcissa took advantage of his silence to press ahead, strengthening their case.

"We already know, Draco, or at least we suspect. And to the Ministry that will be as good as an accomplice if it comes to that, as you fear it will."

Draco found his voice. "If it comes to what?" he asked, trying to play innocent. His mother shook her head.

"You know, darling. Charges. A trial."

In the next lengthy silence, their table was cleared, more water was poured, and the bill was whisked away. Draco took the time afforded to make his decision and then he waved away their waiter, who tried to tempt them with dessert one last time. Draco watched him go, almost wistful, and turned back to his parents. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his hands clasped together.

"I realize I may sound terribly naïve to you both," he murmured, "but I don't believe it will come to that. And if it does…" He spread his hands. "So be it." Narcissa exchanged a quick glance with Lucius and was about to argue when a ringtone filtered softly from beneath the table. Draco held up a finger. "Please excuse me," he said, his voice suddenly as pinched as his lips, the tension far from dissipated. He stood swiftly and fished his phone from his pocket, answering it as he walked from the dining room.

Narcissa's gaze remained locked on her son's retreating figure, her ears attuned to the fading strains of his voice as he spoke rapidly into the phone. She felt Lucius squeeze her hand gently and angled her head nearer his, though she didn't look away from Draco.

"Did I say too much?" she asked, distracted as she was. "Lucius, is it me? Am I driving my own son away?"

Lucius hushed her softly and squeezed her hand again. "No, my love," he said. "Our son is driving himself away…and his memory is does the rest. We're no strangers to it, are we?"

Narcissa was quiet for a moment as they were both accosted by unwanted visions of choices that could never be unmade. When she spoke her voice was sharp, her words short.

"No, we aren''t. But we remembered who we were, Lucius. We remembered each other. What does he have now, but a woman who isn't even real? The time for make-believe is over, Lucius."

"If that's what you think it is for him, then maybe he is better off without our interference."

Lucius' reprimand was unexpected, but accompanied by the caress of his fingers along her arm, her shoulders, until he'd drawn her close and pressed his lips to her hair. It softened the blow and Narcissa shuddered in his embrace, suddenly glad their son had left the table.

"Let's catch up to him outside the restaurant," she said. "I don't feel much like waiting."

"Neither do I," Lucius murmured. He stood and drew Narcissa's chair out, taking her hand as she joined him, and the sound of Draco's voice guided them outside.

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><p>The woman called Jean stopped on the sidewalk suddenly and let out an exclamation. Theo stopped and turned to her so quickly the bags he was carrying for her swung out wildly, nearly losing their items. That caused another exclamation and she was grappling with him for the bags, making sure everything stayed in its place. Then she was laughing, breathless, and reassuring him. The red-head following the pair grew extremely interested in an advert at the nearest bus stop.<p>

"What is it?" Theo asked again and Jean shook her head.

"Nothing, really, I just remembered that I'm supposed to have called Dan before I go out like this," she said apologetically. "I'd better do it now."

"It can wait until we get back, can't it?" Theo asked and once again, Jean shook her head.

"Mm-mm," she mumbled, digging about in her pocketbook for her slim phone. She drew it out and immediately pressed a few buttons. Then she was holding the phone to her ear and listening to it ring. Her manner changed as her call was answered – the somewhat nervous posture from before was gone entirely, replaced by a shy tilt of the head and a mischievous, sweet curve to her lips. Theo sighed and hefted his bags slightly, as if irritated to be made to stand there on the street. Jean spoke into the phone and he directed his attention to her. He began darting glances along the street, as if watching out for something. The red-head shuffled along until she was peering at the pair from amidst the small crowd waiting on the bus. Jean continued to speak.

"Everything is fine, Dan. Yes, I'm alright, I just said it was fine, didn't I? Dan…no, you can stay longer, really. It's just I ran into Ted in the market. Yes, that's right." She paused and pursed her lips playfully. "If you're going to be that way then I insist you stay for dessert. Oh, Dan, you didn't!" Her face fell some. "But it's barely been long enough for…Dan, stop it. I'm perfectly safe, Ted is here, and we're about to go up and get started. No, I promise you, you're entirely superfluous and if you don't get back in there and have a proper meal with your parents…yes." Another slight pause, that silly curve of her lips. "Yes. Now go on. If I see you earlier than that, I will. But I expect you to bring me your left overs, you know. Oh, Dan. Stop…alright. I love you." Her voice dropped some, her cheeks turned pink. "You heard me, you horrible man. Yes. _Yes_. I _do_ love you. Alright? And if I don't get some dessert out of this you'll be sleeping on the sofa for another reason entirely!"

The teasing tone was back in Jean's voice and with the strength of the listening charm Ginny had cast, she was just able to catch the burst of male laughter from the other end of the conversation. The answering smile on Jean's face sent a sudden, sharp stab through her heart. This woman…Hermione…she'd lost everything, and yet she was _happy_. _She was in love_. There was no mistaking it in her friend's features, her voice, and it sent Ginny's emotions into a tailspin.

This woman was happy, and in love, and protected. Maybe not safe, judging from the conversation and her own precious observations of the woman, but she was being watched over…being taken care of by someone who cared about her, someone who laughed with her, and could make her laugh. Someone who loved her in return. Ginny was suddenly unable to breathe and she felt a terrible pressure on her chest. She couldn't say when last it had ached to badly and she tried to turn away from the pair, but instead felt her gaze drawn back and fixed there; helpless to do anything else but watch as her once-friend put away her phone and turned to the man beside her; unable to look away as Theo gestured down the street, towards an apartment building; and only when the pair began to move away did Ginny find herself breathing again. She drew in air by large gulps and pushed away from the crowd as they moved around her, swarming onto the stopped bus. Ginny took three, four shaking steps after Theo and the woman who was now Jean before stopping. Then, with a wild-eyed glare at her surroundings, she spun about and started in the opposite direction, away from everything, desperation and confusion marking her every step.

It was only when she'd walked so far she wasn't sure where she was that Ginny stopped and took stock of what had just really happened. Her shock at overhearing what she had, her desperation to escape the revelations of the night all drained away, leaving only a nagging sense of something left unfinished – and of course, she only had half the story. But more than that, the story she did have didn't make any sense at all…and one thing in particular. The thing that had led to her discovery of who this Jean truly was, or had been at one time.

Theo. Theo didn't make any sense. And before she could allow herself to drag Harry and Ron into this, before she could turn this poor woman, her once-friend, over to the authorities, she needed more information. Because she knew perfectly well what exposing Jean now would do: all her happiness, all her normalcy, would be gone. She would be a sideshow for the whole Wizarding world, no matter how careful they were. Stories would get leaked, rumors shared, and worlds would be destroyed. Not just Jean's world, either – Ron, too. How could she go to her brother now and tell him that she'd seen a woman laughing, smiling, in love, when his feelings still ran so deeply he'd convinced himself they didn't exist?

No, it would be a cruelty to say anything now, but neither could she keep it a secret forever…she didn't want it to be a secret at all. Jean's face – Hermione's face – flashed across her mind again and she felt indecision and confusion descend once more. She couldn't deal with this yet. She couldn't deal with any of it. Putting one hand to her mouth as if she could hold her breath, her _life_ at bay; and her other hand to her heart as if, better yet, she could hold her feelings at bay; Ginny began moving again – down another unknown street, farther into the night.

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><p>Draco walked into a quiet flat, the only evidence of occupation the buzzing of the television coming from the living room. He hesitated outside the double doors and watched Jean's head hover at the back of the sofa before she leant it over and rested her short curls on the cushions. He was about to call to her when a hand fell upon his shoulder. He turned to see Theo and raised his brows, then glanced at Jean again. Now he could see what it really was – that she'd passed out from exhaustion, or worse. He closed his eyes, remembering how she'd sounded on the phone earlier. She'd sounded fine, hadn't she? Perhaps a little piqued, but…no, that was his imagination, what he'd wanted to hear. She'd been nervous about something. He knew. He always knew, anymore. It was impossible not to, with how close they'd become. Or maybe he was just nervous after the conversation he'd had with his parents. It was hard to tell where the real feelings ended and the paranoia began these days. He sighed and turned back to Theo.<p>

"What happened?" he asked.

Theo gave him a measured glance before he moved across the hall to the kitchen. He went to the island, where he'd set his papers, and flipped through them briefly before placing both hands on the counter. Draco waited patiently for him to weigh his words. Theo's methods had moved from talking and simple memory exercises to testing the limits of her perception. It had started small, through introducing trigger words into their conversation, and he'd gradually been escalating to images – books, magazines, television. He'd recommended Draco begin the same process, in fact, and had suggested starting with something simple like a photo – a Wizarding photo. Draco had blanched at the idea, stating vehemently that Jean was nowhere near ready for such a step. And judging by the look on Theo's face and the state of the woman who was currently blacked out on his sofa, he'd been right.

"I moved to practical experience," Theo finally said. Draco's eyes widened.

"Straight from images to magic? You're as mental as she is," he said and Theo flinched and then closed the file of his papers abruptly.

"I'm aware of that now," he replied. He hesitated and looked at Draco. "But how did you expect this to progress? Items, perhaps? Would you want to just leave any old magical object or text lying around and expect her to accept it?" Theo stopped and watched as his friend fought his temper to keep quiet. He decided to move on. They'd never agree entirely on his techniques and they didn't have time to waste arguing about it. He skipped to the question that mattered. "You don't want to know the details?"

"I think I had better, don't you?" Draco said smoothly, quelling his anger, forcing himself to calm down. This wasn't Theo's fault. He was only trying to help them both – and as his parents had pointed out earlier in the evening, he was doing so at risk of his own safety. Draco sighed. "She's remembering more after these episodes. Sometimes I think she remembers even more than what she tells me. Not that she's losing her trust of me, more that…"

"She's protecting what agency she feels she has left," Theo supplied. "Yes, you're right about that. So. In case she asks, or says anything unusual, here's what you need to know: it was a spell, wandless – a very simple heating charm. I murmured it under my breath as I handed her a cup of tea – her cup, one that had sat cooling for some minutes. She took the cup and began to drink and for a moment I wondered if the fact that her tea was no longer cool had registered at all. She wrapped her hands around the cup, indicating she felt the heat and found it pleasant, looked up at me, and was about to respond to something I'd said, which had nothing to do with tea, of course, when she stopped short. Instead of continuing on, she thanked me for reheating the tea." Theo paused and glanced at Draco to see how he was taking the news so far. Draco waved a hand for him to continue and Theo raised a brow. "Well. I told her it was nothing, and she went on to respond to my original remark. As if my heating her tea – when we were sitting in the living room, nowhere near the microwave or a hotplate – was the most natural thing in the world."

Draco swore under his breath, his voice awed, and Theo shrugged. "It gets worse, not better," he said and Draco shook his head.

"Of course it gets worse, Theo. It always does. Still, that's bloody amazing, Theo. I never imagined…"

"Neither did I, to be honest. But it went downhill fairly quickly after that. She stopped again just seconds after reentering normal conversation with me, stared at her cup, closed her eyes and began screaming and shaking her head. She wouldn't let go of the cup, though. I finally got it away from her once she'd exhausted herself."

"What do you mean?" Draco asked sharply. And here it was, the second part of a story Theo had been dreading explaining to Draco since it had happened just a few scant hours ago.

"I didn't give her a sedative," he said softly, but firmly. "Not only do I think they are no longer necessary to her well-being, I've found that in other cases of memory loss they can actually serve as a hindrance to remembering. They cloud the mind after episodes like hers, causing the patient to lose judgment of what is real, or not real, and stopping those parts of the brain that can most actively lead to recovery of memories. They dull the senses, making the patient unable to hold onto the thoughts and images that caused the break in the first place. When that happens, when the patient is unable to recall what caused such a reaction, or is at the very least unsure, it makes the meditation techniques I use in memory recovery that much harder."

"But she's in pain!" Draco exploded, unable to stop his outburst. "How dare you deprive her – "

"It's psychosomatic!" Theo responded. "It isn't real, don't you understand that yet? The pain she feels during these episodes is as real as the future you keep pretending you have with her!"

Draco reeled back and turned away from Theo. "You're not even a real psychologist," Draco muttered. "Why the hell should I trust you?"

"Why the hell did you ever trust me?" Theo retorted. "But you don't make Healer in four years resting on your bloody laurels, not with a name like mine."

Draco made as if to slam a hand against a cupboard in anger and stopped just short of it. "Damn," he whispered. "I know that, Theo. I just…"

"Right, you love her. Well, let me know how that goes for you when Potter comes for her, or better yet, when she remembers – because she will remember, Draco. It's only a matter of time now. Her mind, the one shut away with whatever was so horrible she couldn't live with it, the one she would've locked up with the help of that spell or without out, is coming back. You can either speed the inevitable along by helping me help her, or you can leave it up to fate. Which will it be?"

Draco rubbed at his face wearily. "Keep helping her, Theo. Keep at it, please. And know you're a better man than I am."

"That was never in doubt," Theo replied, his voice calmer. "I'm leaving now. I'll be by again the day after tomorrow. It's time to increase the sessions." He hesitated, as if waiting for Draco to respond. When the other man didn't, he picked up his things and turned to leave. "Incidentally," he said over his shoulder, "the flowers are from me, in case you were worried."

It wasn't until Draco had followed and locked up after him that he glanced at the hall table and saw what Theo had been talking about. A modest vase stood full of flowers – narcissi, pansies, lilies, and a few brave sprigs of lavender. Theo, it seemed, had graduated to items after all and Draco suddenly felt as if he could never make up for the doubt he'd cast on the other man, who stood as his only friend in an ordeal whose end was all too close.


	21. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the HP franchise; all rights to JK Rowling, WB, Scholastic, etc and so forth.**

**AN: Wow, been a while. My apologies! I'm just very, very busy right now and will continue to be. However, I do intend to finish this story (sometime) and have a clear idea of where it needs to go from here. Hope you still enjoy/care! :D**

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><p>Ginny sat down opposite Ron and leaned over Harry's desk, clasping her hands in front of her. She watched Ron work for a moment and then smiled softly.<p>

"How are you, Ron?" she asked him suddenly and he glanced up at her, smiling in return before rubbing one cheek and turning back to the scroll in front of him.

"Hullo, Gin," he murmured. "Harry's not here." He wrote a second longer and looked back up at her. "If you were looking for him?"

"I was looking for you, actually. I know Harry's not here."

Ron nodded and went back to his work and Ginny continued to watch him. A frown stole across her brow gradually.

"So? How are you?" she repeated and he shrugged before signing off on the scroll with a flourish. He started to roll it up.

"Hungry, mostly. You know we still have our regular case work in addition to this thestral of an investigation." He finished rolling up the scroll, tapped it with his wand to seal it, and then looked across at Ginny moodily. He banged the scroll on his desk for a moment before tossing it over his shoulder where it disappeared just before it hit the wall.

"What was that one?" Ginny asked him, trying to draw him out some, and he nearly didn't answer her, still eyeing her with that thoughtful look upon his face.

"Missing child," he replied finally. "Been missing two weeks already. He'll probably stay missing until we catch his killer."

"Oh, Ron!" Ginny gasped and Ron shrugged and turned his gaze elsewhere.

"That's life," he said after a moment of silence. "That's the job. Harry and I knew it before we ever signed on. I'm not the one that takes chances, not anymore, not after the war. I think that's why I've been trying to accept the loss, trying to get over it. He never could. But the minute she was gone and stayed gone longer than a day…I knew the odds were she'd never come back. That's our training, Ginny. And we've had to accept our training's been right, over so many things…so many terrible things."

He looked so haunted that for a moment Ginny worried he might disappear before her very eyes – just fade away from the burden of the years, or become another lost soul in the bleak landscape of the Ministry's machinations. She looked down and started digging about in her bag. Ron watched her looking for something and pressed his lips together.

"Look, Gin, if you're not here for Harry and you want to see me, well, what did you want to see me about?"

Ginny glanced up at him, her prize in her hands, though they were still hidden by the bag. She'd debated with herself all night about what to do – and been very glad for it that she hadn't moved in with Harry yet. It meant she still had the privacy to fret over the situation and cry, and throw things, and break dishes, and mend them only to break them again. Which she had done repeatedly.

But the point was, she'd had the peace of mind to think everything through, everything she'd seen and heard last night, without needing to feel guilty over not telling Harry immediately, or having him badger her over what was wrong. And while she'd decided to keep her news to herself for just a few days longer, until she could do some more reconnaissance work on her own, Ron's words just now had assured her that her decision to tell someone soon was the right one. Even if Hermione had a new life, she deserved to know who she had been – and even if by some twist of fate it was still all a big mistake, then for their sakes', Ron, Harry, and herself, they deserved to know that, too. Besides, there was a part of Ginny that, upon seeing Ron like this, upon knowing a little more of the hopelessness he'd carried all these years, well. She wanted to banish it. She wanted to help him, to see that sometimes it paid off to have blind faith. She wanted Harry to know that, too.

So now she pulled the photo Penelope had edited from her bag and pushed it across the desk to Ron.

"She made a second one for you, Ron. Because she could, and because she knew you'd want one."

Ron didn't say anything at first, just stared down at the picture of his beautiful, lost love, who stared back at him with a tentative smile on her face. As he watched, a breeze from off camera blew across the photo, ruffling her curly locks that had been magicked short. Her shy smile grew wider momentarily and she lifted a hand to her hair, brushing a few curls from her eyes, before the smile turned into sudden laughter. Ron watched, transfixed, as the cycle ended and repeated and it was at least a full minute more before he spoke. His voice was hoarse with unshed tears and Ginny felt a momentary twinge of guilt.

"She shouldn't have," he mumbled and Ginny reached across the desk to place a hand over Ron's.

"She wanted to. You deserve it more than anyone."

"Pen's been too kind to me for a long time." He went on softly. "I don't deserve it. But I am grateful."

Ginny nodded smartly, her lips drawn in a tight smile as she fought her own tears. A wave of regret and the wild notion to tell Ron the truth filled the gaping hole in her chest. She opened her mouth as if to say something more, but stopped short of speaking. Ron didn't notice. His eyes were glued to the photo and something in his face kept her from breaking the tender, bittersweet silence they suddenly shared. That was all it took – one hesitation and the secret of Jean, of Theo, was safe. The momentary urge she'd felt to spill everything to her sorrowful, broken brother had passed and she found herself gingerly pulling her hand back from his. She had to play things cool for just a while longer. Just a few days, she promised herself again. Hermione was safe for now, she had to trust her instincts there.

Standing abruptly, she put her hands on the desk and leaned across it to swiftly kiss her brother's cheek.

"Be safe this week, Ron. And keep your spirits up, please. I have a feeling something is going to break for us, I know it."

Ron nodded, a morose expression on his face. It cleared a moment later and he sighed. "You're right, Gin. We have to stay hopeful, eh? In fact, we just received the clearance to start posting the pictures in that neighborhood of the grocery store, if you'd like to help out…?"

Ginny hesitated again and Ron glanced up at her, a sheaf of the fliers in an outstretched hand. He looked from her face the fliers and back and shook them a little.

"Ginny?" he asked, prompting her. She gave a nervous laugh and took the fliers from him quickly.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "Just seeing them put together this way, seeing her face on it…"

"It's a little shocking, I know," he replied. "It doesn't really seem like her anymore, somehow. As if now that everything is official again it's someone else we're trying to find." He gave Ginny a tight smile. "Except it is her, isn't it?"

She stared at him, eyes wide, before darting her gaze back to the fliers to cover up her mistake. Of course, he was talking about the posters and not Jean. He didn't know it was really her. There was no way he could know, or that Ginny was practically lying to him. She swallowed hard.

"Maybe," she said. She glanced back at her brother and shrugged some before shrinking the fliers down and stuffing them in her bag. "I'll get started putting these up straight away, I promise," she said in a more confident voice. "I'll write a full report for you later."

"I'd do it myself, but I'm still a bit tied up here," Ron answered. "It's not quite above board, having you do it, but a report will smooth it out alright."

"I'll owl it to you as soon as I can," Ginny said. She backed from the office, giving Ron another wave and feeling increasingly uncomfortable. "See you later, yeah?"

"'Course," he called back, but all he saw as the word left his lips was the flutter of her long, ginger hair around the door frame as she sped away. He looked thoughtfully after her for a moment before he looked back down to his desk. His fingers caressed the picture of Hermione again before he gave a sigh of his own. Then he picked the picture up, opened a drawer, and dropped it in. Shutting the drawer smartly, he reached for more paperwork. The solitary sound of the clock in his office continued to tick away the hours of his increasingly lengthy workday and if it reminded him of how his life seemed to drag slowly by, no one else knew. No one, that was, except a longsuffering witch who had been a better friend to him than he thought he deserved.

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><p>"How do you feel?"<p>

Jean tossed an arm over her eyes and groaned as she felt the bed indent next to her. "Horrid," she croaked. She felt Dan's arm sliding beneath her shoulders and leveraging her up, and then he was slipping pills between her lips and pressing a cool glass of water to them. She swallowed automatically, trusting him completely despite the vague feeling of uneasiness that seemed to hover over her aching head.

"Paracetamol?" she asked after he'd pulled the glass away and she heard him laugh softly.

"I thought you might need some," he murmured and she heard the clink of the glass as he rested it on the bedside table. The bed indented more as she felt both his arms go around her and she snuggled back against him, giving a content sigh.

"Mm," she responded. "It was a hard session. I don't even remember crawling into bed last night, I was so tired."

She heard Dan catch his breath and then settle them both back against the pillows. He forced a laugh. "Should I speak to Ted about it? I don't like other men being responsible for wearing you out. That's my job."

She lifted her arm away and twisted her head to look up at him. "Dan, what's going on?"

The artificial smile on his face melted away into confusion and before he could utter the words, she drew herself up to straddle his lap and put a hand over his mouth.

"Something," she began, "is going on. Don't try to deny it. I know when you're not telling me the truth, when you think you're protecting me. Well stop it, for once."

Draco's eyes met hers, so sharp and demanding, and he wondered if this was it. Was she going to remember everything? Had she already remembered? Very carefully, he put one hand over hers and curled his fingers over it, slowly drawing it down. He saw her gaze soften in the face of his obvious trepidation and he took a chance.

"The truth is that it was a hard session last night, wasn't it?" he asked and her brows drew together. He pushed ahead. "What I'd like to know is when, or if, you planned on telling me." When she opened her mouth to argue he shook his head, resting his hands on her hips, rubbing circles there with his thumbs to soothe her. Then he risked it all. "You remembered something, didn't you Jean?"

Her mouth hung open in disbelief, in denial, but the words wouldn't come. Her eyes darted over his face, her panic plain, and suddenly she threw herself forward, burrowing against him, screwing her eyes shut tightly.

"Don't, Dan," she begged softly. "Don't make me relive that."

So, it wasn't what he'd feared initially, but she had remembered something more than the usual smoke and shadows that invaded her nightmares after the sessions. He laid a hand on her head, stroking her mussed curls gently, wrapping his other arm tightly about her. He felt her shiver some and pulled the blanket over them both. Covered in warmth and comfort something in her seemed to ease and he heard her draw a new, steady breath.

"You're warm," she whispered. He started to respond, but she wasn't finished. Her words took him by surprise. "I remembered what that was like, before. Being warm, I mean."

Draco drew a small breath. "Tell me about it?" he asked in a gentle voice. He was prepared to plead with her for that small memory, but she offered it freely.

"I don't know exactly what happened," she said apologetically, "but I think Ted handed me my tea and when I wrapped my fingers around it…" She shut her eyes again as if trying to tease the memory out of the hazy headache that was the night before. Draco rubbed the back of her neck, easing her tension, and she relaxed against him more.

"It was barely there, the memory was. You know? But I knew it had to be before…the accident." She paused to think. "I knew that much because I can remember the man in the cell with me, the one he kept threatening to kill? And the man was holding me. He was keeping me warm. He was keeping me…"

Not safe, not quite, were the words on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't say them. She couldn't do that to the new memory of how the man had tried to protect her from both the cold and the screams of the woman. Although why he had held her so close, so lovingly, when he'd been a stranger…

"I really did know them, didn't I?" she asked softly and Draco dropped his head to press a kiss to hers.

"You probably did," he acknowledged. "Especially if their lives were what you were being threatened with to keep you – "

"Don't," she whispered again and there was silence for a few more minutes.

"Do you…do you remember their faces yet?" he dared ask again. She shook her head and he wasn't sure how he felt.

"No," she said. "Just how it felt. But, Dan, the strangest thing happened. When I remembered his warmth, I began to remember other things, other warmth. Like…a campfire, and someone else holding me. And then being so warm it felt like I might…I felt I might have been burning alive, Dan." She began to shake in his arms again and he immediately soothed her, despite the shock coursing through him. Burning alive? Someone else holding her? Campfires? This was completely new territory, and it was more than she'd ever shared with him before about the pictures and sensations the sessions had awoken in her. And it was entirely obvious to him those memories reached far beyond her initial captivity under Yaxley. In fact, he felt he could probably name the source of those memories with some confidence.

Ronald Weasley.

Her time on the run, Seventh Year.

The Room of Requirement.

He closed his eyes and felt her shift in his arms, off his lap so that she was lying back against him again. He kept one arm close about her shoulders whilst the other played in her hair and he heard her sigh. The melancholy sound seemed to match the beating of his heart with its frantic rhythm that screamed he would lose her before too long. But he'd known that already. Now he just had to prepare himself for the truth.

"Dan, I'm worried," came her soft, plaintive voice. He opened his eyes.

"Why's that, love?"

"Because I think my life before…I don't think it was very pleasant. And what if…what if that's because I wasn't a very nice person? Oh, Dan," she sighed. He heard the tears in her voice, the frustration and the fear, and he buried his face against her hair momentarily. "Dan, I'm so scared. I know this is what I wanted, what you want for me, but I'm scared."

He wanted more than anything to agree with her. Instead, he shook his head and bent over her to kiss her mouth. He explored it gently, tenderly, and she reached up to hook a hand about his neck. When he pulled away, she was still worried, but the tears were gone.

"Don't be scared, Jeannie," he murmured. "All or nothing, ok? And I'm right here. I don't believe you were a bad person. I don't see how that could ever be true. You didn't ask for any of this, understand? None of it is your fault and I won't blame you for anything, no matter what we find out. I swear to you," he finished and kissed her again, more fiercely.

"Oh, Dan," she repeated and a moment later they were wrapped tightly in each other's arms, her memories pushed aside in the wake of a longing they were both scared they would never be able to slake. He, because he knew they couldn't last forever; and she, because she had a vague idea that forever wasn't meant to last. Not for her. Not after the way the first one had ended.

The thin thread that idea was tied to drifted away as quickly as it had come, blown back under the onslaught of Draco's determination to convince them both they deserved happiness, if only for a moment.


	22. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise, its characters, creations, or ideas. All rights to J.K. Rowling and WB, probably. **

**Author's Note: It's been so long since I updated this. Life happened in between times, but please believe me, that I came back to this stagnant, in-between chapter many times, hoping, wondering, and finally. Lo! The dawn hath come! Rather, I had an impassioned plea from one fan too many. So, here is another chapter in this story, with hopes at completing it before life takes over again. Please do let me know what you think of it. **

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><p>Ginny stood before her last stop for posting the fliers: the bulletin board just inside the doors of the grocery store. She found herself hesitating yet again, staring at the picture on the flier. It was still, unlike the copy she'd given Ron, but the likeness was the same. And all she could do now was post it and hope for the best; hope that this Jean would see it and call the number beneath the photo, or that her partner would respond, or that Theo would do the right thing. Or that flobberworms would fly. She shook her head at her own fancies and lifted the flier to the board, prepared to stick the pushpins in.<p>

"I'm so sorry, miss, is that police business?"

Ginny stopped and turned at the sound of the man's voice. A tall figure blocked the harsh fluorescent lighting some and she looked up at him, mildly surprised.

"Er, it is, in a manner of speaking. We're working with them on this case, my citizen's group, I mean." She thought she'd covered her story nicely, but the man was looking at her suspiciously and so she held the flier out to him. His face cleared some as he looked it over.

"I see. She was missing, but now she's been reported in this area?" the man asked and Ginny nodded.

"So we're helping the police with hanging fliers."

The man looked curious, as if he wanted to ask her more, but at that moment an employee of the store called to him.

"You clocking in, John?"

"Be there in a tick," he called back and then looked to Ginny again. "Look, you can't hang this here," he said as gently as possible. When her face fell, he hurried to reassure her. "We've got a board for official business, I mean. Police stuff, stolen items, missing children, you know? Let me take this to my manager and we'll get it up over there for you, yeah?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you," Ginny replied eagerly, relieved. The man nodded to her, gave her a short smile, and then walked off in the direction of his fellow employee.

With a sigh of completion, Ginny watched him a moment longer, then turned and walked out of the store. She'd done her job. Now she just had to write up a report, send it in, and wait. Fortunately, she wouldn't have to wait idly. Checking the time, she saw she'd just be able to make it to the office of one Theodore Nott for a brief consultation before he left for the day, although perhaps that wasn't the right term. Consultation, interrogation…they were practically the same thing, really. Weren't they? Humming lightly to herself, Ginny quickly made her way down the street to a disapparation point.

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><p>Jean shifted closer to Draco as he stood at the island in their kitchen, elbow deep in flour whilst he kneaded bread dough.<p>

"It'll never be done in time," she advised him primly and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"And why's that?" he asked, stopping the back and forth motion of his shoulders in order to shape the lump of wheat and water and yeast.

"We-ell," she began, drawing out the word in a way he'd heard ages hence, sitting in damp, stone-walled classrooms. He paused in the shaping and looked at her. She smiled and tilted her head in a bookish manner he hadn't noticed in her previously and for a moment it was so like the old her, the one they were trying to win back, that he started visibly. Fortunately she didn't notice and went on with her lecture.

"It has to rise a second time and your parents will be here any moment now. There's no way it will be finished before dinner is on the table," she informed him with a smug smile.

Draco managed to find his voice. "Ah, see, that's where you're wrong. This is a fast-acting yeast and the recipe calls for popping it straight in the oven. It'll rise while it's baking."

Jean wrinkled her nose and opened her mouth to argue only to have him put his mouth to hers and silence her rather effectively. She felt him wrap his arms around her shoulder, keeping his floury hands away from her clothing, but holding her to him with equal effectiveness. A minute later she managed to break away and maneuver so that her hands were between them, holding him at bay, just.

"Your parents," she gasped, half laughing.

"What about them?" he murmured, trying to lean forward and capture her lips again.

She squirmed in his arms and turned her face away, laughing fully.

"They're – here!" she exclaimed and Draco held himself away to give a good once-over. Some of the fight left her as she returned his gaze frankly, waiting on his reaction.

"Nah," he finally responded, then took advantage of the way she'd paused in fighting him to land another sweltering kiss on her. The doorbell rang. The kiss went on, despite Jean's suddenly renewed struggle. The doorbell rang again, more insistently, if it was possible.

Draco drew back and raised a brow as the import of the bell's ringing at that moment dawned upon him. Jean glared at him and then her frown dissolved into a smirk.

"I told you so," she said and this time Draco frowned.

"So you did," he said quietly, as if to himself, and released her. She glanced at him queerly as she moved away.

"Daniel?" she asked, but he merely turned away as if nothing was out of the ordinary and made to wash his hands at the tap.

"You'd better get the door," he said to her, over his shoulder. She hesitated, realizing at that point that something wasn't right. Draco felt it and tried to pull his thoughts together. He couldn't let her know that something was wrong, not with his parents waiting at the door. He didn't need them witnessing one of her breakdowns. If they were to know how dire things were, he wanted it to be simply because they believed that their son was telling them the truth. He pasted a smile on his face and cast a look back at her.

"Go on, then, love," he said smoothly, and was gratified to see the worry lines on her brow relax. "I'll be right behind you. Just need to wash up."

"I thought you were going to introduce us," she reminded him and he grinned.

"You're a grown woman. Introducing yourself won't bother them." He turned back, washing the light suds from his forearms.

"Cheeky!" she replied, and he heard her bustling behind him in the kitchen. The sounds of the loaf of bread being nestled in a pan and then slid into the hot oven, the creaking of the opening and closing of the oven door, alerted him she was still there. "And what will they think when the only last name I can give them also happens to be yours?"

He grabbed a dishtowel and spun around to face her. "I don't know," he said nonchalantly. "I hadn't thought." He allowed a wicked grin to descend over his face. "What should they think?"

Uncertainty spread over Jean's face. "I…don't know," she said, echoing his words. "Mightn't they take it the wrong way? I remember that much about the normal world," she explained.

Draco glanced at his feet thoughtfully before tossing the dishtowel over the edge of the sink and moving past her for the front hall. He slipped a hand around one of hers as he went, tugging her into step behind him. "I don't honestly think that will matter to them right now," he said. "In the first place, I think we should be honest about it if they ask, and in the second – no, don't argue over this with me, please."

Jean grew troubled and it was so easy for him to read her, so easy because he knew every line in her face, every expression…so easy because he loved her. Draco gave her hand a squeeze as they drew up before the door. It rang again, as if signaling an end to their conversation.

"It's dangerous," Jean insisted on whispering as Draco reached a hand out to clasp the doorknob.

"Love," he replied, hushing her, "they're my parents. They love me and they know I love you. They'd help me move mountains if it was what I wanted. We don't have to tell them everything, but it's best if we give them some version of the truth. Yeah?"

Jean met his eyes and Draco could see an internal battle, brief though it was, rage behind those brown orbs. He squeezed her hand and the doorbell rang once more. She nodded.

"Yeah," she breathed. Then she straightened her back, lifting her head with just a hint of her old pride. He'd seen that look before, so often: when they were children in school, or in more recent years, when she was marching into battle, facing down her greatest foes. He felt his heart swell and cast a brilliant smile on her. She's in there, he thought. Hermione Granger is alive and ready to fight, even if she has a different name and has been through hell. She's prepared for the consequences.

"That's my girl," he whispered, though he knew he didn't have the right. He'd allow himself to feel a moment of pride and love in this woman he'd likely sacrificed his own future to help. Then he opened the door to the giants Jean was certain dwelled without.

* * *

><p>Theo glanced up at the door to his office as it swung inward, expecting to a nurse, or at the very least, a receptionist. What he was not expecting to see was an irate Ginny Weasley, carefully controlling her anger. He sat up a little straighter and set down his quill. There was only one thing her visit could be about and it appeared they both knew it. The only question for him now was, would he throw Draco under the hippogriff, or protect his patient to the last? He thought of Jean's sad, brown eyes and a smile similar in sadness rippled across his lips.<p>

"Weasley," he said. "To what do I owe this pleasure? Finally come to ask for a consultation on Potter?"

Ginny managed not to roll her eyes and instead eyed him silently for a moment before taking the seat in front of his desk. She assumed a casual manner – as casual as she could, under the circumstances – and began to shrug off her outer cloak. "Harry is doing quite well these days, thanks much. Not that you would have noticed. You have your own problems these days, don't you, Nott?"

Theo pressed his lips together and exhaled thinly through them. "Straight to business, then?"

Ginny met his eyes. "Straight to," she replied evenly, but Theo could see the fingers of one of her hands were shaking slightly as she grasped the arms of her chair. When he didn't respond for several seconds, she took a deep breath and began her inquiry. For every smooth question she asked, he had an equally smooth response and Ginny felt despair begin to cool her anger.

"Have you taken any new patients lately?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You know why."

"I most certainly do not."

"Healer Nott, you know the Ministry's Aurors have reopened their investigation of Hermione Granger."

"I'm afraid I don't keep track of the Ministry's every move." He flashed her a tired, yet poisonous smile. "For instance, I wasn't aware the Aurors are now outsourcing to civilians."

Ginny ground her teeth a little and went on. "My work is registered with them. There are permits in place."

"Are there? How wonderful for you."

"Nott, stop playing with me. Have you any new patients?"

Theo decided to try some honesty. "As a matter of fact, I have. Not that it is any of your business."

"I checked your clinic's register. If you have, her name isn't on it."

At that, Theo grew visibly angry. "You had no right to do that."

Ginny looked smug. "I'm investigating an open and vital case."

"You're playacting," Theo hissed, "in the name of that fool fiancé of yours and I won't have you skulking about my offices wringing confidential information from my nurses and staff on threat of pain, or charges, or whatever it is you've told them!" He stood up on his last words and towered over his desk menacingly.

Ginny paused, taken aback, then thrust her chin out. "The only way to stop me asking them is to talk to me yourself."

"Blast it, Weasley! This is not a Ministry matter! It's a matter of health and quite private! I don't even see how my name has come up at all."

"If it has to do with Hermione Granger, no it isn't, and you're hindering an active investigation. As for the last, well. We have our sources."

Theo decided to try one last tactic. "What makes you think it has to do with the Wizarding world at all? What if it's Muggle business?"

Ginny leaned forward in her seat, teeth bared. "Because I saw her."

If it had been Draco standing before her, all the blood would have drained from his face. Since it was Theo, the most he did was shrug and sit back down. He didn't go in for dramatics. He didn't go in for anything. His job and the confidentiality of his patients depended on his keeping cool under fire and he would give Jean nothing less than his best form.

"Whatever you thought you saw, Ginny Weasley, think again."

"Why should I? Are you going to sit there and tell me it isn't what I think it is? Are you going to convince me to keep my mouth shut for just one more day, give you more time to talk yourself out of this one? Or," she added, "get rid of the evidence?"

Theo looked genuinely aghast and Ginny was suddenly ashamed of herself.

"Ginevra Weasley, I am a Healer!"

Ginny winced and hunched her shoulders in embarrassment. "I know. I know, Nott. I apologize."

Theo took a deep breath and seemed to consider something. His eyes wandered over his office and finally fixed on the door behind her, just above her head.

"I might ask you to leave now," he said simply and Ginny held her breath. Then he lowered his gaze to her. "I don't suppose you would?"

She returned his gaze evenly. "No. Not until you answer my question."

"Which is?"

"If it's not what I think it is, then what is it?"

The phone lying on his desk decided to ring just then and Theo tore his eyes from Ginny to glance at it. He covered it with one hand and pressed a button, silencing it, before looking back at her.

"Has it occurred to you, Weasley, that not every wizard who survived the war was as eager to return to our world's fold as yourself and your friends?" Theo smoothly pocketed the phone and gazed at Ginny coolly.

Ginny's heart rate started to rise and she felt her blood begin to rush through her veins. She barely found her voice to respond to him. "So…it is her."

Theo sighed. "That's not what I said, Weasley." His brow furrowed and his eyes grew distant again. "Furthermore, it is not what I meant. I'm merely trying to tell you that this…is Muggle business. Any interference from the Ministry could damage the people involved beyond repair. Please, Ginny Weasley." His voice pled with her. "Please let this alone. For now. For good, if you can."

Ginny wanted to shake her head, wanted to protest the truth she knew she was hearing – or, if not the truth, the simulacrum of it that was working its way into her heart and convincing her to let it be.

"Muggle business," she repeated dumbly. "If it's Muggle business, how are you involved?"

"A friend," Theo replied immediately. "I have a friend – more than one friend – who has business dealings with them. That's how I heard about the situation. That's why I'm helping. It has nothing to do with my practice here."

"But…can't you tell me anything more? You know what she looks like – you know this is bound to come out. Someone else will see her, will assume…"

"They may," Theo said. "Still, I am honor bound to do what I can, for now." He allowed a moment of humanity to rub at his jaw. "I only hope you can forgive me."

Ginny did shake her head then and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she stood up. "Forgive you? I'm the one who'll need forgiveness."

"Consider it granted," Theo replied, standing as well, and Ginny nailed a baleful look upon him.

"Oh, not for this," she clarified when he returned her look with one of confusion. "For believing you."

Then she turned and left, as quickly as she'd come. Theo stared after her and swallowed thickly. Then he fished his phone from his pocket, dialed a number, and held it to his ear. The hand holding it shook badly.

* * *

><p><strong>Note: Well? How was it? Decent? Indecent? Is there a demand for more? The end shouldn't be too far ahead of us and if you want it badly enough, I'll keep working on it. Thanks for returning to it after all this time, dear readers. You are the best.<strong>


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